


The Last Kurta

by hanareader



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Experimentation, Kurapika meets the troupe in chapter 6, M/M, Massacre, Whump, genetic manipulation, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-10-05 14:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanareader/pseuds/hanareader
Summary: On his last pair of eyes, Kurapika finds a baby.To protect her, he must ask the people that killed his clan to save it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The cover art for this fic was made by [jixie!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jixie/pseuds/jixie) I am ever so grateful to have received this, best present of the year~  
> (here's a link to their [deviantart](https://www.deviantart.com/jixie007) and profile on [ffn](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/126891/Jixie) :)

 

His dowsing chain was never wrong.

Even back when he was still struggling with his nen and his chains were partly manifested, the metals of his hatsu shimmering into reality only to flicker, to blink rapidly into existence only to disappear altogether, his dowsing chain was a familiar stable weight since he had first decided on his ability. It represented his unwavering conviction. He knew he wanted to find his brethren’s eyes. He wanted an ability to navigate and determine the location of things before he wanted of his revenge. In finding himself to be a conjurer, he had immediately decided that a dowsing ball weight would be an apt supernatural object to conjure and utilize. It was to be his chosen conjurer ability, the only one that he didn’t have to activate his eyes for. The ball weight was the closest to him and so it was his strongest chain, even stronger than his chain jail. It was a non-offensive ability but ideal for his personality, despite his aptitude to master all nen classes.

His dowsing chain _never_ led him wrong.

The ball weight was a comfort to him in times when he was lost, when he didn’t know what to do next. It would lead him to succeed in his goals, it would drive him to victory. It directed him to truth in a world filled with evil. So long as he had his chains… even if he strayed in his path, Kurapika believed that he could always find his way back home, to himself. He trusted his own capabilities. It never led him wrong.

If asked, Kurapika couldn’t explain how this specific chain of his worked, because he didn’t fully know of his own abilities. He didn’t understand the power behind his own dowsing ball, why it even worked in the first place. He didn’t know of his own powers, and thanks to the Spiders, he’ll never learn all the possibilities of his Scarlet eyes. He didn’t understand why it would lead him to this.

His heart seized in his throat. Immediately, the chain user shut off his nen. He swiftly muted the heavy aura and defense he was projecting to a murmur, a mere hum of ten. He didn’t want to scare or wake the thing before him.

Once his nerves quickly settled, Kurapika took the few tentative steps closer to reach a small hospital bed. Walled on all four sides with thick, heavy glass the bed took centerpiece in the room, louder and carrying more presence than the array of thrumming science equipment and laboratory materials. The top of the glass was free and open, for air, he figured, as his eyes never left what he was looking at. Kurapika moved closer. He wanted to see, he needed to see this. For what he was looking at he didn’t want to depend on his dowsing chain, Kurapika wanted to witness this with his own two eyes.

When the Kurta found himself looking down at a sleeping baby, he’s been made utterly dumbfounded. What is this? Why did his chains lead him here? Kurapika lifted his hand to try at his nen again, demanding of himself to determine the location of the Scarlet Eyes. His dowsing ball swayed like a pendulum before floating of its own accord. Unassisted by his nen it stretched towards the sleeping baby, towards that child’s eyes. Kurapika’s own eyes widen, he flinched and gasped, shut off his nen quickly and reeled a step back.

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

…

The doors behind him bust open, before he could recollect his thoughts.

Kurapika heard the clicks of multiple firearms as mafia men piled through the double doors, like a gush of water, fast and spreading on all sides. The fact that they were mafia didn’t bother him, technically he was too, and as far as he could tell these men weren’t trained in nen. Loads of mafia men with guns would be frankly irrelevant to him if it weren’t for their sheer numbers that swarmed the room – and the fact that they moved in professional, military-style formation, immediately dispersing themselves along the walls and deftly blocking the exit. Kurapika frowned. They may not have been trained in nen, but they were trained in _something_ : for mafia they were quiet, organized, and eerily prepared.

The fluorescent lighting was switched on like headlights, illuminating his trespass. It was enough to stun him. The tables and walls and countertops – everything – was a blinding white, bleached to all hell with disinfectant, until it smelled sharp and strong like a hospital. Kurapika thought he felt his eyes burn at the sheer amount of chemicals in the air. He let them run with Gyo in preemptive defense, because it seemed that it wouldn’t do to underestimate his opponents now.

When one of the men gestured silently, he noted the professional hand signs and he narrowed his eyes. Kurapika supposed it must be their squad leader, because these men in suits switched from guns to batons and tasers in a controlled, unanimous manner; the cacophony of the click-stow-switch of their choice of weapons was ominous in the room.

He should have taken that as his first sign.

The man that gestured stepped forward.

“Well. Why don’t you introduce yourself?” he asked calmly, lowering his gun first. His hair was notably shock-white, it was short and ruffled though Kurapika figured it was more of a platinum blonde. He didn’t look threatening; he was young. He stood out not only because of his hair but because on his suit he wore a neon green tie. The man stepped closer, continuing his stance of non-aggression, and made a show of placing his hands into his pockets. He didn’t feel he had any ill intent, and Kurapika didn’t know him.

Kurapika was more hyperaware of himself. If he could avoid it, he didn’t want to kill anyone who wasn’t a Spider. Not if he could help it in any way, if they weren’t hostile towards him or his friends…

“I want to ask the questions first,” he stated clearly. “Answer me and I won’t kill you,” Kurapika raised his hand, displayed his intent before allowing his dowsing chain to shimmer and manifest. The ball weight hung heavily. “Who is this child?” he demanded.

When the man only blinked, glancing between him and the baby in the cot, he looked at Kurapika calmly. “Ours. How did you find us?”

“My dowsing chain led me to this facility,” Kurapika spoke carefully, taking a quick observation at all the high end, expensive science equipment plugged into large, powerful outlets. The machines hummed and thrummed loudly with electricity. “What is this place, I couldn’t discern records of it anywhere.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“You’re not a sector of the mafia I’m familiar with. Tell me, what are you, and where did you get this child. Do not lie to me, I can determine whether you are telling me the truth. This baby isn’t-”

“She’s a Kurta.”

Kurapika gasped despite himself, he felt his heart cinch and constrict like vines. He couldn’t help it, his eyes turned red.

“Ah. And so are you.”

His face went white shock in horror. “What did you do?”

“We had a feeling that there was a survivor. When the stock of the remaining Scarlet Eyes had quickly dropped from circulation, and kept dropping, we were wondering what kind of pro robber was stealing them from people’s personal treasuries. We almost thought it was the Phantom Troupe, and I was asked impossibly to prepare for that. But I’m glad. We are lucky,” the man smiled. He gestured again to the guards around him and he snapped to the ones hovering against the walls. The men moved in smooth, swift formation to close in on him by a step, while one of the suits broke form to lock the exit. The heavy metal doors groaned before closing, thundering ominously when it locked shut. “My boss will be very pleased to know that it’s you.”

When Kurapika glanced momentarily at the doors and the man smiled, he realized that something was very very wrong.

“Closed Room Mystery,” the man explained as he loosened his tie, the bright slip of it catching his gaze, as it was the only thing of color in here, in a room of pale hospital blues and cold whites. Kurapika focused his attention on him as he seemed to be the only nen user present, while noting how the men quickly surrounded them. “So long as I’m locked inside, so are you – with a special condition. Do you feel it?” he asked, clearly enjoying the sound of his voice. Kurapika breathed, his breaths deepened and slowed as the realization settled within him; he was growing worried but he only showed his emotions with a blink.

“You are the only nen user here besides me so I don’t have to touch you. Makes things a lot easier on me,” he added.

When Kurapika tried to summon his chains in a last, desperate effort, tried being the key word, he attempted uselessly to manifest the nen he needed only to find himself run empty. His hands were bare. He glared at the man with the green tie.

“Forced zetsu state,” he shrugged casually at his growing horror. “Granted, I suffer from it too, but I don’t mind that much. I don’t care to play fair. None of these men are trained to use nen but there’s a total of about 28 grunts here, 29 including myself. I hope you have some fighting skills other than using your eyes, Kurta,” he challenged, right before they all attacked.

 …

It was a fight for his life.

Kurapika had expected things to get more difficult, the more eyes he collected. He expected the terrain to get real the closer he was to achieving his goal. All of his most recent targets had grown suspicious and increased their security on their precious stores, getting this far took nearly everything out of him.

What he didn’t expect was a plan on his person.

These men weren’t good fighters. They were average, if not below average, Leorio-level at best with more meat on them. Kurapika could take down any number of these men with only a single chain, and maybe some open space. But now without his powers he was made deeply unsettled, and he stumbled.

Hearing his clan’s name again… the Kurta looked at what he thought to be the last of his kind for a second too long.

One of the grunts managed to pelt him in the abdomen, next thing he knew he was curled over, clutching at his stomach. He scrunched his eyes shut.

But he couldn’t unsee her sleeping face. How tiny she looked. She had soft, downy hair, like Pairo.

(Goddammit, he swore.)

These men may be unskilled but they had the numbers. As a group, they clearly learned to read each other’s moves well, and were used to spamming their opponents all at once. They were good at ganging up on their targets, too good, almost like they were disgustingly familiar with the motions and performed such a maneuver regularly. When he saw one of them shock his partner by accident, then cruelly kick them aside, it was clear that they accepted an idea of friendly fire. They were just as determined as him. He wondered briefly how much they were being paid. Mafia don’t normally excel at teamwork, nor at self-sacrifice.

Their actions were wild, random, and sporadic, the way they threw themselves at him haphazardly quickly grew hard for him to predict. They would do anything to capture their targets. Kurapika screwed his face in disgust and kicked the man reaching for him in the hand.

He would last for as long as he needed to, even without his nen. He had to. He would be the last one standing before taking this child for himself, and finding out where she really came from.

When the man with the green tie was summarily kicked to the curb, Kurapika didn’t think nothing of it. He had other opponents to think about. The other nen user simply got up from his sprawl on the floor, dusted himself off by brushing his clothes and then he turned away from him. He could see the man walk away in the corner of his sight. He got the impression that his character was lazy, not as suicidal as the grunts annoying him currently, and he didn’t try to challenge him again, though Kurapika didn’t think he was really trying in the first place. He was letting his smaller guards suffer all the pain and labor for him. When he slipped away from the main fight, slowly, casually, to where the baby was laying… Kurapika realized with a sudden horror just exactly what he was capable of.

His words were deathly clear through his ears.

“Boss said: ‘Anything goes’. I wonder if he meant this,” he stepped around the small enclosement, resting his elbows against the tops of the glass. The baby remained in sleep, and the man looked down at her.

Kurapika could feel the blood drain from his face.

He punched and he kicked, this time throwing himself at _them_. But all the men blocked him, uncaring of the harm against their bodies, like cannon fodder their only job was to throw their lives away just to slow him down. Kurapika was so _frustrated_ , his eyes flickered and unflickered red.

It was no use.

“I’m pretty used to killing babies, though I admit not ones that are human. My specialty is in capture and detainment. Our targets tend to be animals and rare beasts, very rarely do we get a nen user like you, but at least you’re not a baby. There’s not much in the market for babies,” he said so casually.

Kurapika almost yelled intelligibly.

“Don’t you dare!”

“I only want the easiest possible route. I am not being paid to fail. If this works, then-” he let his words trail off ominously. He whipped out a blade, holding the edge against a soft, delicate neck.

Despite himself, Kurapika hesitated.

The man knew what he was doing. He wasn’t overly smug and triumphant. He was completely unsurprised by this, detached and not-reacting, his face was impassive and impersonal. His hand was steady. He was going through the motions and Kurapika had let himself fall for it, hard. In the face of his blank acceptance it was Kurapika who was growing emotional, and it wasn’t anger. Water swelled up in the corners of his eyes. Panic built up and broke down in his chest. He felt his head swirl with trapped energy and emotions, the edges of his sight tinging with scarlet. But the man didn’t care, he was just getting his job done, and this was no empty threat.

It was one thing to learn of his clan’s death after it had happened, to find himself upon the scene of the crime days after the cruel deed had been done. It was another to watch one’s death before him in real time… Not after what his dowsing chain had confirmed, and so soon when he had finished collecting the eyes. This was his last pair, and it wasn’t even a pair at all. These eyes could see, they could reflect and gaze at him back. He had never been so happy… and he had never felt so scared. If there was even the smallest chance that she was real-

No. He couldn’t bear it.

He could feel his actions slow and his limbs get heavy. He stopped. Kurapika didn’t move a muscle. The grunts stilled and didn’t interrupt their conversation.

“Our priority is you,” he calmly explained. The nen-user laid the blade gently against baby skin.

“What do you want,” Kurapika’s voice came out cold and curt. But he could hear the tenuous edge in his words. He could hear the break, and the desperation.

“Stand down and we can talk.”

“If you harm an infant then I will have nothing to do with you,” he threatened.

The man only blinked at him. Kurapika could see his dulled, brown eyes.

“Will you stand down?” he repeated mildly, and tapped the blade twice. His heart jumped at the careless action, racing suddenly. Seeing the man tap a knife against a baby’s neck was all that it took. The fight swiftly abandoned him.

That was his first mistake.

…

He was captured after that.

It was an easy capture if only because Kurapika let himself be. Any other day he’d be stiffly disobedient and voicing his clear distaste towards authority. He would never cooperate with criminals. He knew he was stubborn and he’d fight tooth and nail over something he believed didn’t make any sense, but looking at her… all of a sudden he felt the years he threw away and the onset of a tiredness he had never let himself experience before. His body slumped, in exhaustion and sheer relief.

All the air seemed to have deserted him, leaving Kurapika struck dumb and his mind starkly blank. His eyes couldn’t leave her face. Everything was coming to this moment and he was caught and awed, he was made unable to escape it. Even as the man with the green tie came with a pair of hand cuffs, his gaze never left her.

The man seemed to learn quickly of his submission. When Kurapika surrendered his arms out to be restrained, he trusted him and signaled the men around him to stand down.

There was no compromise to be made here, Kurapika screamed at himself desperately, screeching the thought as he let the nen-user come closer. There was no excuse for this, to make a baby of his clan like this was _deplorable_ – as he let the man lead him away from the room.

From that day on, Kurapika hadn’t seen her again.


	2. Chapter 2

The Survivor, they called him. These guards hadn’t seen someone of his clan alive since they were called into service. He wondered yet again where this baby came from.

As they’ve mindlessly followed their superiors, they probably weren’t very used to the ‘rare’ things they captured being alive. Or even being human. From their express surprise, and the way they danced around handling him, Kurapika deduced that they must be more grave robbers, or used to working in response to rare beasts rather than human beings. Their stun guns and tranquilizers were set to fell an elephant. If it weren’t for his relation to Killua, he would’ve died from the first dose.

But the man with the green tie, whose name he later learned was called ‘Ay’ didn’t know that. He and his boss were lucky in that regard. Their sheer stupidity didn’t immediately kill him, if they had use for him yet. Not that Kurapika would let himself die, not before he could find out about the last living eyes.

He reasoned… that they were just being extra cautious. This was what he told himself. Even despite having a Kuruta child in their mix, these guards treated him like an anomaly. Like he remembered the outer villages around Lukso Province would do when they went on supply runs. These grunts didn’t know him, they feared him. Kurapika concluded that they’ve never seen the eyes.

Their boss, however, had expected his arrival and set a trap for him here, clearly wanting him alive. The guards’ awestruck fear of a Kurta didn’t last him long. Even knowing Kurapika was the last survivor of his clan couldn’t spare him the rough treatment.

He was tortured.

…

‘Rough treatment’ was a gross understatement. Thanks to the fact that he had permanently paralyzed two of their men, sending one to the infirmary for an indeterminate amount of time, they tortured him. It was simultaneously an uncertainty of what to do with a living, human capture, a fear for those moments when his eyes _flashed_ , and an earnest revenge for their friends. Kurapika didn’t blame them; he could relate.

When they beat him in with their fists, sticking to his outer limbs and avoiding any vital organs, they distinctly didn’t hit the same place twice. When they allowed him the dignity to stand up again, to _breathe_ \- he could tell that they weren’t entirely bad people.

But being tied to a chair for an unknown amount of time had his legs falling asleep for the past three hours. His hands were rubbed raw against the ropes, yellow and scratchy with hard fibers. His ankles felt sore, as Kurapika had had to sit with his heels raised, just to bind his feet fast to the chair legs. They refused to feed or let him any drink. Instead, he stared past the three guards responsible for his current inconvenience, as these were clearly close friends, while Ay stood against the back wall, watching. Kurapika found himself focusing on the isolated nen user, bypassing the three mafia grunts altogether.

Kurapika knew who his real enemies were. Ay, and as of yet his still unknown boss. He knew that they were the only men he needed to concern himself with. They were unpredictable, their motivations unclear and not as simple as the mafia goons he was used to. He was closely familiar with the same spiel, friends who joined the mafia together. He had seen the bonds made within such a violent environment, bonds that held strong and were closely defended, going against or even beyond a superior’s orders. These relationships had gained a kind of elevated status, and the men defended their vocation avidly, admirably.

At least, that’s what he told himself when they beat him again.

He quickly learned that Ay couldn’t care less about anything. The same, however, couldn’t be said to the grunts. The nen user watched from the back with an expression of dead boredom, dull eyes observing them quietly, and Kurapika had held his stare in return until a guard slapped him in the face.

“Where the hell are you looking at?!”

Kurapika tested his jaw, cracking it audibly. He ran his tongue over his teeth to search for anything broken. All was still in place, and his mouth wasn’t bleeding. Nothing was broken.

He sighed in expectation for the worse.

Losing his nen was his first day.

…

He had lost a lot more things after that.

These men, they weren’t torture specialists. They weren’t very good at it, weren’t good at fighting neither. Ay let them have their fun, let them try their best to scare him but he was already well-versed with mafia tactics and knew the boasts from the real threats. He knew that the little physical privileges that they had taken and played with and messed with were only the minor things. The beginning act to the main show. They couldn’t hurt him any more than he had already been made confounded over her, the Kurta girl. All he could think about was what he could remember of her face, the way she looked like Pairo… Kurapika didn’t think he could fall so soon. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. But there was no other name for it, he had nothing to show for himself. He was completely smitten. Kurapika let himself get caught, let himself endure their torture, and now he was stuck sitting, tied to a chair.

He didn’t even notice.

…

He thought that today… must have been his eighth night.

It was surprisingly cold in the desert. Once night rose and day fell, the heat that baked the sand dissipated in an instant, leaving the ground as quickly as it heated it. The dramatic changes in temperature warped the integrity of the sand above, while underground this process was racked up to the elevens. Kurapika couldn’t adapt. After seven days of searching, capture, torture, this rapid drop in temperature only exacerbated the stress introduced to his body, made worse by the removal of his nen. Kurapika could normally handle something as simple as weather had he his chains. Without them, he wasn’t just cold, he was hypothermic.

He was dying.

And all he could think about was that girl. He had manifested his Emperor Time on the expectation that there was no one left, that he was the last one and after he collected the eyes he could go back home and lay them to rest; lay himself to rest alongside his people. There was no reason for him to be living, if he wasn’t to pursue the Troupe anymore. He expected he had only a couple decades left and that was good enough for him, more than satisfactory. If he decided to pursue his revenge he could die trying in one fell swoop, end it in an instant.

Seeing her tiny, pudgy face threw a giant, _screaming_ wrench in all his plans.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted… to feel anything but the way he itched beneath the ropes they tied him with, if they set his feet free he knew his knee would be _bouncing_.

Kurapika tried to stamp out the warmth in his chest. He bit his inner cheek until it bled; he didn’t dare let himself _smile_. He didn’t want them to misunderstand, he didn’t want to offend his capturers.

He wasn’t the last anymore.

…

The question of where she had come from visited him multiple times throughout the day, leaving him when he was too passed out to think only to return when he opened his eyes. Kurapika blinked dumbly. His sight blurred before him and his mouth had run dry. He forgot where he was momentarily, where he was sitting, his head swayed dizzy before his thoughts began to slowly stitch together. The feeling of warmth flooded him. It was undeniable, his hope and his joy. It cut through the pain. He thought it was worth it, once his head was clear, he thought about her and where she came from, and on how they could escape immediately.

Now there was another Kurta that existed. A new member of his clan. He couldn’t be reckless with his life anymore. Kurapika didn’t know where this girl’s parents were, whether they were survivors too and what had happened to them, but judging by his current predicament he knew it was unlikely. The chances that they were alive was slim to none, if not non-existent. He’d have to check later, with his dowsing chain.

Until then, he needed to formulate a plan. He would have to find a way to be rid of his restraints, and regain his nen. Then he could find her and get them out of this place with confidence.

He can learn of exactly where she came from and what to do with her later. This… saving her was more important.

…

They kept trying. The man who he learned was in charge of this operation, in charge of many things spanning from human trafficking and the collection of rare parts, who had a side interest in _breeding_ , for god’s sake, that same individual wanted to know where he kept the eyes. But Kurapika wouldn’t tell them. His keepers quickly learned that torture was no longer an effective route, and when Ay finally suggested the bright idea that they threaten the baby… Kurapika spat blood in his face only to admit that he had buried all of them before they could get their hands on his clan’s heritage any longer.

Ay had cursed sharply at his words. He spoke something swiftly into his radio, grunted his agreement into the speaker and clicked the thing shut.

He looked at him.

Kurapika hadn’t showered since they had detained him here twelve days ago, but the stress of being held against his will had depressed into his skin. His hair was matted, dirty, oily, and his hands red and raw from being chained to this damn chair. Dried blood crusted along his skin and under his nails mixed in with the dirt, while the sweat from the desert air soured the sickness reeking from him.

The longer he was detained, the more stark the emptiness seemed to eat him from inside, without his nen he felt so _wrong_. He felt weak. Helpless. The loss of his nen was worse than anything they could do to him physically, he felt it more closely than the growing bruise on his left side, where one of his guards had got lucky with him. He thought briefly of Chrollo and the chain he had placed, and then he erased his mind of the man to other, more important things.

There was a look Ay was giving him. The Kurta may have been dirty, messy, and completely unprepared, but he refused to accept such a face of consideration, and what seemed to be abject pity. Kurapika growled in instinctive defense.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here,” Ay said quietly. Kurapika glowered at him, the red brimming at the edges of his sight.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“My boss told me to keep you here, by any means necessary,” Ay shrugged and pocketed his radio. “I’m guessing that means he wants you alive for something, and not just for your eyes. I was told to babysit you for as long as he needs to get here.”

Maybe it was his word of choice that triggered him.

“Where did she come from?” he demanded. “What do you intend to do with that child?” he asked this of their whole organization.

What the hell was an unknown sector of the mafia doing with a Kurta baby? A baby that he himself had no clue existed, one that had to come from _somewhere_ even though his clan had all been massacred nearly a decade ago.

Unless there was a piece he was sorely missing. Unless there were other survivors.

The thought was warm, honey nectar melding into his tongue, the mere idea of it was _tantalizing_. Other survivors… he wanted to believe it, he needed to believe. The possibility could make him euphoric, had him dizzy in his seat, swaying, whirling. He thought about them as much as he did about her.

Who was it? Who would they be? Were they still alive, for who would leave their child to the mafia? Where did they go? The questions had him spinning, because there were certain things he took for fact that defined the world through his eyes.

He knew how the Genei Ryodan worked. He had encountered them personally. The idea that they could spare a single soul didn’t compute with the information he was getting now, and he couldn’t let himself believe it, not until he could see them with his own two eyes.

(That day, surely, he was the only one outside his village)

But now he had found another. He could focus on the things he knew absolutely, on what was tangible and that he could hold.

“I don’t think that girl is of any concern to you anymore,” Ay said simply, pulling out a plastic chair for himself. He sat facing the bars. The man pulled out his phone while he was at it, unknowing of how it grated Kurapika’s nerves, the way he was so indifferent. He talked like she was already dead. Ay tapped at the device quickly and with a habituated show of boredom.

“I’m the last of my clan,” Kurapika said.

Ay didn’t look up.

“Yeah, you are.”

Kurapika froze. The chill sunk deep into his bones, despite the warm weather.

This man wasn’t lying.

_“Where did she come from?!”_

He roared, surprising himself with the vehemence in his voice that he had never shared with anyone who wasn’t a spider. His words clanged against the walls of the small prison cell. The way Ay was so frank got to him, it spoke volumes of how common this must be for them. The practiced answer scared Kurapika. He panted for air, throwing himself desperately against his restraints. His chair scraped like brakes. He dared for a response with glowing red eyes.

Ay simply blinked at him.

“I don’t think you are in a position to be asking questions.”

…

He wasn’t.

Being tied to this chair wasn’t just telling of the position that he had placed himself in. It grew more and more debilitating, because forcibly sitting he had no choice but to accept what was given to him. That included his torture, as well as things that didn’t affect his person.

There were the screams.

He wasn’t the only one in here. He wasn’t the only rare thing around. There must be other individuals besides himself, animal and human alike because he had heard things through the walls. The silence of this place had permeated his skin, through his pores until it chilled his blood. It was his comfort before it distinctly turned on him, and he was a fool.

The quiet had betrayed him because it was only through the stark interludes that he could hear them _screech_ … the sound stuttered off quickly and became all the more horrifying. They had him jolting awake in the middle of the night, panting. They had him sweating for reasons apart from the heat during the day. They worried him. He worried over her, over other survivors, and then he worried over himself. He had to be functional if he was to get that girl out of here, he couldn’t let himself _make those sounds_.

The silence was stifling without any questions to ask. He didn’t want to know the answers anymore. He wanted out. Soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Their boss had arrived.

The day he was coming, Kurapika learned of by making the conclusion himself. It was quite obvious because these people actually allowed him a shower. Not that he wasn’t rank enough to warrant one already, he knew how he must smell, a horrid mixture of blood and dirt and stress and sweat. But the offer came seemingly out of nowhere until he figured it out. He was too weak to perform the scrubbing motions onto himself, but rather than help they just left him to soak in the tub. Kurapika saw his bony knees stick out of murky, gray water. He may have needed a strong washing but he was secretly glad for the moment of privacy. He couldn’t bear if the same hands that hurt him, cleaned him now.

The bath relieved him of some of his aches. The cold water alleviated the desert heat, and soothed at his bruises.

They had kept him relatively well, all-considering. Granted, he didn’t make for the most cooperative of prisoners. He refused to shut up. He was demanding, day in and day out, of where that girl came from, where her parents were, if they’ve done something and if they did... he swore he would kill them all. Ay didn’t particularly care for his strong language, but the other guards didn’t take too well to him making threats.

Today, however, they distinctly didn’t make any moves to ‘damage’ him.

He was given some soup, and more water. And then they took those things away, before he could finish. Kurapika sat, distracting himself from the hunger, thinking of what kind of man their boss was while they made him as presentable as possible. Before he could fall too deep into his thoughts, the man appeared.

Their boss came in, trim black suit and a single flower in his chest pocket. The flower was fake, sewed into the material fabric itself, and Kurapika figured it was part of the impression he wanted to make. The Kurta stiffened in his seat.

“You must be our survivor.” Kurapika glared.

Ay stood, if only to allow his superior his seat. But the man in the suit didn’t pay attention to him and Ay was used to that.

Kurapika watched as the man came closer to his bars, and the man watched him in turn. It was a staring contest of wills as much as it was a study.

He asked, frowning. “Who let him in here?”

Ay raised his hand.

His voice was disappointed, almost _pouting_. “That’s not a nice way to treat a guest.” Kurapika narrowed his eyes at the words.

Ay nodded and fingered the keys at his hip. The metals clinked together as he fiddled with the lock.

“Is the whole room nen-locked?” the boss asked while the locks jingled. Ay shrugged and the bars creaked open. With a knife, he cut his restraints. Kurapika didn’t need to be told, he walked himself out of his prison.

The opportunity to get out of his chair was enough to energize his weakened limbs. His legs had atrophied but the privilege was too sweet to pass up. He struggled, he wobbled but he didn’t care how he looked.

And neither did the boss in question judge him for his weakness. The man inspecting him didn’t seem to be looking for any of those things. He inclined his head to some of the people behind him and his guards dispersed themselves. Ay stayed. A woman stepped herself forward.

“I want to show you something,” he explained.

Kurapika glared between the both of them, wary. He regrettably took a step back, into his cell.

When the man saw the look on his face he had the courtesy to explain.

“It’s only for security measures, you see. Just a formality. I promise this will no longer be necessary should you soon prove yourself.” There was no room for arguments.

Kurapika feared.

“You don’t want any more physical restraints, do you?” he said, as the woman came closer. “You’re not much of a difficult man, now are you?” he asked as the woman moved herself onto him.

The slight feeling of his nen, only trapped under his skin, disappeared in its entirety. The emptiness was-

…

Where Ay had specialized in initial capture, detainment and immobilization, his ability keeping Kurapika from having access to his nen so long as the man was in the same room as him, the woman was different. Her power was to erase. She didn’t just steal, she took completely, with no objections. Kurapika couldn’t feel himself anymore. He couldn’t tell if he could still access his chains. When she was done and the boss was satisfied, Kurapika clutched a hand to his chest, searching, feeling, finding nothing. Their boss seemed to gloss over his horrified expression.

The man introduced himself as Abel. He gestured to the woman as Shiro. Kurapika thought it was apt, their names, he kept looking only to find white nothing inside himself.

“Let me show you something.”

…

He was well taken care of after that. Kurapika was relocated to another room, not explicitly a prison cell but one where he couldn’t help but to see it as the same. The room held a proper bed, bathroom, and a small window, for him. He had a view of the outside at least, although the opening was too high for recreational viewing, not that he would see anything but desert sand for miles anyway. He was allowed the time to rest and recover, and Kurapika sunk into his mattress even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. The care he was currently given unnerved him, kept him awake and on guard, the acts of consideration he received scared him more deeply than the torture. It was startling, if not disturbing and suspicious, and the more they began to cater to him the more this place made him want to leave avidly.

He could escape more easily here, from this room. In theory. Kurapika had no guards. But the security cameras in the hallway from his door were weather-proof and he was no longer fast enough to avoid them. Abel clearly didn’t see him as a threat any more, not after the loss of his nen. Neither did Ay. The idea rankled him, turned him in his fitful sleep. But Kurapika told himself, he needed to recover his strength soon. He’ll need it, if he planned to get out without his chains.

…

“Are you decent?” Ay knocked at his door. Kurapika knew it was a false formality, as the man opened the thing before he could respond. Kurapika sighed.

_Let’s get this over with._

He felt like a dignitary from a far off kingdom, escorted but treated warily, like a potential enemy for war. He was brought into what was a cafeteria, Kurapika figured. The place was emptied out of the mafia foot-soldiers that frequented it, leaving only one table lined with food. The cafeteria bench was covered with a table cloth and decked with different dishes held in plastic Tupperware, the benches lined with paper plates and wine glasses. Kurapika noted the touch of candles and a vase of flowers. It was a poor man’s dining table, the most decor that could be scrounged up in the middle of the desert and the Kurta was slightly impressed, if not a little creeped out. Abel stood up when he walked in, making a point to invite him to sit and eat; he stood just to shake his hand.

Kurapika was struck, frozen.

“Hope you don’t mind the inadequate materials, it’s hard to get access to things in the desert.” Kurapika nodded blankly.

“Sit, please, eat and we’ll talk.”

…

Kurapika quickly learned that this man was like him. As Abel went on and on about mild, unimportant things, pushing for an idea of a friendship between them that never existed in the first place, he finally spilled something of note. Abel was the last of his clan too. He was Notisi, of the East, and Kurapika had never thought he would see another person like himself working in the mafia. No wonder the man was trying so hard to be friends.

But the Kurta told himself he wouldn’t fall for it. It wasn’t long ago he was in a prison cell, he still had the bruises of his torture. He wasn’t fooled by the sudden change of heart, and he wouldn’t forget.

He just wanted this man to get to the point, to tell him what he intended to do with him. To tell him exactly what he had done to his clan. His appetite wasn’t much to fill the silence.

Abel nodded quickly and helped him out of his bench, taking special care and patience for his weakened legs. Kurapika felt uncomfortable but couldn’t name the feeling enough to tell the man to stop.

“Do you want to see something amazing?” the man asked him hopefully. His excitement was palpable and betrayed an age younger than what Kurapika assumed.

His hand on his shoulder, however, felt like too much, too familiar and too close, like the talk of a mad scientist his glee gleamed behind green eyes.

Suddenly, Kurapika feared.

“You want to see it, don’t you? That’s why you came here-” Kurapika didn’t deign to tell him he only came to find his clan’s eyes. “You’re not the only one who’s come to this facility. We’ve rehabilitated lots of lost clan’s here, just in this small laboratory, bringing history back to life. Come, I’ll show you,” he was so excited. His grip was tight and unrelenting on Kurapika’s wrist.

The Kurta had no choice but to follow.

…

He knew some things were too good to be true.

Abel talked to him so cheerfully. He lectured like a professor enthusiastic and proud of his subject even though his ‘class’ wasn’t paying attention. His enthusiasm was bright through his words… though Kurapika believed that this was a subject never to be taken up academically, much less fictionally.

This was _wrong_.

Abel walked before him, leading him and gesturing wildly with his hands. He led him on a tour of the whole laboratory. He showcased his side ‘interests’.

Kurapika had never been so horrified in his life. This was worse than what the Genei Ryodan had committed onto his clan.

They were in a dark room. Gelled machines surrounded them, Abel had explained that the dim lighting and cool air conditioning kept certain substances from swift oxidation, so long as the assistants were quick with their hands, and focused. Abel prided himself that his workers always followed the appropriate guidelines, as the materials they were working with were ‘quite expensive’, he joked, and the rarest things from all over the world. Kurapika’s eyes couldn’t tear away from the machines. The foreign things hummed and breathed electricity, while the growth’s trapped within them floated in a viscous nutrient fluid, or what Abel had commented they called ‘ambrosia’, as it held all the things for new, better life.

This was no better life. All he saw was death incarnate, and the man standing next to him was too blind to see it.

He may have had his nen sealed for an indeterminate amount of time but he was not separated from his instincts. Kurapika held close to his knowledge of recognizing auras that were trained and untrained. What he saw in those machines… They were not human and they were not _lifeless_ – those things had an aura he could feel, ones that Abel and his workers weren’t trained to recognize.

They had no clue what they were making. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

The thought of Gon and Killua flashed in his mind. They had told him of their journey to NGL, where there was an outbreak of a B rank calamity called the Chimera Ants. Kurapika reviewed what they described to him. They were insects made up of an amalgamation of different species combining for the most ideal of traits. When he looked up to the machines he saw human-looking embryo’s… but the intent was the same. Different tribes made up the genetic output of the being before him, and while intermixing wasn’t a problem, bringing traits back from the dead _was_.

The relation was apt, and it horribly grew to make more sense the more he thought it. This felt something like what happened to NGL.

Kurapika listened partly, focusing his attention on the growths trapped inside what looked to be a glorified incubator. The embryo grew grotesquely before his eyes, swelling and deflating its skin like a puffer fish, breathing and absorbing the ambrosia. Slightly fearful, Kurapika backed a step uselessly. This thing shouldn’t exist, this creation shouldn’t have _worked_.

Kurapika realized then that they must be dealing with some sort of calamity, though they were far from the Dark Continent.

And Abel had no clue.

“This is where we keep the growths with developmental problems,” he pointed a finger to their left. Kurapika made his eyes follow. There was another row of gelled machines, labeled in blue. One of them burped, a bubble of air trapped inside popped, floating rapidly up its surface and the thing, the embryo inside it _moved_.

He was so disgusted.

“Of course, maintaining them is quite an expensive process, we do perform a certain upkeep in case there’s something to be learned from them. We’ve given them code numbers and organized by birthdate, though most of our test subjects don’t last, I’m afraid,” he explained.

Kurapika didn’t understand the things he was talking about. He tried to listen to what Abel was saying to him, explaining to him, but he couldn’t relate. He couldn’t think past how wrong this all was, seeing these things take place. Something here, in the aura in the air felt deeply unnatural. What was dead should not come back to life.

The rare body parts they must have collected and used had lingering aura themselves. It was like how his clan’s eyes remained scarlet after death, instead of returning to their owner’s colors. Alone, the nen was enough to keep the integrity of the parts intact, to preserve that moment of death, and the feeling his clan must have felt when they were slaughtered. Mixed together, however, it was enough to fuel a new being. Unfortunately, the nen after death had stayed. It transferred over. It was given the chance to manifest into life again. Abel didn’t know that it wasn’t just ideal genes being mixed here, but _nen_. The hostility at their time of death, their fear, their need for their clan’s survival… these angry feelings twisted and coiled into one another melding into something truly corrupt. Kurapika could feel it in the air, and his eyes shifted red in response to all the seeping emotions.

Kurapika watched in quiet horror.

Seeing the rebirth of so many dead clans… Kurapika never thought he’d feel so happy and miserable at the same time.

He didn’t know if he could open his mouth to speak.

“What do you do with them?” his voice came out raspy.

Abel was happy to hear him portray interest. “We try to salvage what we can,” he said cheerfully. Abel turned to him. “You have to understand, this is a particularly new field of study, recently funded by the Hunter Association. We barely received the intelligence collected from the Chimera Ant fiasco in NGL, so we’re working with what little information we have.”

 _Hunter… Association?_ Kurapika breathed shakily.

“… what are you trying to do?” he asked them of their organization’s purpose. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer.

Abel was happy to tell him.

“Preserve! Revive! Don’t you see?” He gestured to the room around them. “Here, let me show you more,” he led him quickly away.

…

Abel led him to another room. This time instead of machines filled with the unborn, this room was full of living, breathing people. It felt less unnatural here, and Kurapika exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in relief. With the danger passed he slumped despite himself.

“These are our people,” Abel said.

Kurapika frowned. He looked to where the man was directing.

“They are all lasts of their clan, like us,” Abel tried to appeal to him, to a sense of comradery. But there was nothing he could reach, beyond an idea. “They came here of their own volition. They offered to provide their genetic material in the hopes that we would help keep their clan from going into extinction. Most of them are the sole female or males of their clan, in need of mate to produce pureblooded offspring. We help fill that other half,” he said, and Kurapika shivered at the unexplained details. “It’s all voluntary here, as you can see we draw contracts over there, and ask them to sign here, and-”

Kurapika interjected. “I was held against my will,” he narrowed his eyes at the man.

Abel waved his words away. “Of course, of course,” he conceded good-naturedly, though Kurapika didn’t think what was done to him could be taken as a light-hearted joke. “I’m sorry for what happened and I take personal responsibility for that. But we hadn’t thought that there was a living Kurta in a decade… You can’t blame a man for getting ahead of himself. I let my excitement get ahold of me. Do forgive me,” he gave a swift bow before Kurapika could see the expression on his face.

Kurapika faltered.

“Why?” he asked with as much respect as he could muster, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice. “Why are you doing this?” he asked even though he knew the answer.

If the man was truly anything like him, then he knew the meaning of loss. He knew how it felt to lose everyone you loved, and have no one left that was like you. He knew the same loneliness, the same isolation, only made worse by the awareness that the state of his clan now, with their eyes being sold as commodities… only went to show how distanced they were from the rest of the world, treated as less than human. Kurapika knew the feeling. If he had the opportunity to revive his people again like the good days of old, he would do anything-

Abel suffered the same trauma as him, but directed his energies into _other_ outlets. They walked different paths but with the same goal. This man wanted to bring his clan – no – all clans to glory again, from the disgrace that was committed onto their persons. Kurapika couldn’t get too upset. He could relate.

In thinking about the Kurta girl, seeing her face… he had never felt so happy to see his clan revived once again. But the method to go about it, Kurapika doubted and felt sickened to himself. Abel told him that they’ve grafted genetic material from one of the pairs, in order to ensure that the next generation would be able to have Scarlet Eyes that activated on will, rather than being implanted. She was the first success they’ve had after 5 years of failure. And now he was alive. They were excited by his arrival, by his youth and his pure blood, Abel looked at him with a disgusting kind of hope.

And Kurapika shivered. He knew that now it was only a matter of time. Soon they would take something from him, something more devastating than his nen.


	4. Chapter 4

Later that night, Kurapika didn’t hesitate. He didn’t think twice about it, because he needed to focus his attentions on his next step immediately. One moment he was sitting in his room, and the next he was moving out, walking quickly with a purpose and not looking back at what he had done; only looking forward.

It was he who started the fire.

The cameras clearly caught him. Kurapika didn’t bother hiding what he had done. He didn’t care and it didn’t matter. He started the flame as close to the incubation room as he could get, in the hopes that the smoke would be enough to sound the alarm. It was. He hadn’t started the fire in the room itself, which was probably the only reason their sprinkler systems hadn’t activated yet. It was Abel’s mistake to show him around this desert facility. It was his same mistake to underestimate him without his nen. Kurapika moved swiftly and surely, his actions mindless like a worker on the assembly line, unthinking, unfeeling, on to the next.

The fire spread.

Kurapika may not have set the blaze inside the incubation room, as he didn’t have the time to procure the clearance for it, but it was close enough. Enough to cause a panic, and the laboratory alarms began to screech like raptors. Everyone’s attention was now directed at him, at his location. Especially in the defense of the room dangerously next to the blaze. Kurapika abandoned the scene.

He didn’t run. He walked, briskly. He had no nen at the moment, so he needed to make do with what he had. Only his wits and his singular memory to guide him, and some good luck. Kurapika passed people running in the other direction, towards the flames. With the fire behind him the people ignored him to rush towards the disaster scene, as Kurapika had planned. He passed the crowds of panicked researchers and guards and volunteers alike to let them salvage their precious experiments, while he made his way to the nursery.

He broke into the nursery. His heart pounded evenly. His breaths were deep and slow as he exhaled and inhaled air, betraying a calm that he wasn’t feeling. Inside, Kurapika trembled. His hands shook as he dislodged the lock, unsteady and loudly clanking, but his actions were filled with a measured composure that went against all the emotions thrumming in his veins, bright scarlet in his eyes. He was on fire and he wanted to run, he wanted to throw all his patience to the wind. But Kurapika stopped himself. He paced his actions because he didn’t want to be mistaken as the perpetrator. They could check the camera reels later. Right now, he needed to pretend to be one of them. He maintained his calm even when he managed to get the door open with a _click_ – he smoothly made his way inside.

He had only a few precious minutes to find her and escape. He had even less time to figure out which baby cot was hers, and no luxury to make mistakes. He ran, checking each and every hospital-issued crib, most of which were horrifically empty as he rushed by them. But Kurapika couldn’t think about _why_. Kurapika couldn’t afford to waste his time worrying about things he can’t control. He needed to search and this time he didn’t have his dowsing chain to help him. He couldn’t worry about that neither. All he needed to focus on was moving as fast as he could despite his weakened legs, he had to believe he could remember her face from anywhere.

He did. He found her.

The Kurta girl was sleeping, unknowing of the chaos happening around her, unaware and unconcerned with the mystery of her birth. Kurapika didn’t think twice. He swept her up, wrapping her in her blankets. He held her close to his chest, her head tucked under the cusp of his collar. With her secure, he didn’t need of anything else; with the first half of his mission accomplished, he had to leave, immediately.

He ran.

He exited the nursery the way he broke in, as it was the only exit he could see thus far, and he had no room to be making missteps. He turned opposite to the fire. The alarm was now blaring through the whole building, red flashing head lights illuminating the hallways, and he ran uncaring of the noise. The Kurta girl however, woke up to the violent sounds, and to being jostled against his chest. Fearfully, she started crying: small, scared hiccups that bleated pitifully and Kurapika clutched her tighter. He went left, then right, then left again, and he didn’t second guess his next directions, he put all his trust in his instincts and his memory of first breaking into the place. His steps beat against the cold, laminated tiling until the flooring changed, and his memory triggered.

The ground he sped over grew dark in color, rough against his joints like asphalt, the hard concrete used to build the outside infrastructure of this place was finally coming through. Intended to keep out the sand, the entire hallway was encased in rock – Kurapika remembered this. He glimpsed little piles of sand that had built up, littering and lining the bottom of the walls. He was getting close. Kurapika pushed onward and when he breathed the cold, desert air, winds of sand stuffed into his mouth and nose and eyes, and then he coughed, he sputtered, and then he kept moving, this time faster.

The sand would slow him down, but there was nothing he could do about that. He didn’t have the time or luxury to determine his next direction. Kurapika arbitrarily chose northwest, on the opposite side of the entrance. He hoped that the great sand dunes would slow any pursuers. He hoped they would think it too hard for him to traverse, and that his tracks would be covered.

With the last semblance of civilization behind him, Kurapika surrendered himself to the endless desert.

…

The chill of the night went on. Kurapika walked, with the Kurta girl in his arms. The cool of the night calmed his nerves even though he knew he wasn’t out of the park yet. Exhausted of her tears, the girl fell asleep fitfully, with only dried marks and small, soft sounds into his chest. It hurt him to hear them, it pulled at his throat, tightening with every scared sound. Kurapika wasn’t someone she recognized and could trust, and she was forced into such a new, unfamiliar environment. The cold of the desert was striking to her, uncomfortable and making her unhappy. The air would have chilled her face if Kurapika wasn’t holding her so closely, shielding her from the worst of the night winds.

Day broke, and the chill went with it. Kurapika’s muscles slackened in relief; if they survived the first night then they had a fighting chance. The sight of the morning rays hitting the sand appeased him, he thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. Neither did the baby, she woke up quickly. She picked her head off his chest to see the world around her.

Understandably, when seeing something new that children have never seen before, they tended to get excited. It was why Kurta children were the most vulnerable to exposing the Eyes, they had little control over their immediate emotions. The Kurta girl was no different. Her eyes brightened, and it was then that Kurapika knew that his dowsing chain hadn’t been wrong.

…

He knew his ultimate goal was to collect all the eyes but he never imagined that it would turn out like this. His dowsing chain may not have been wrong, but _he_ was.

Taking her, it turned out, was his horrible mistake.

The sun had barely risen. Its rays struck the sand and Kurapika didn’t know if this particular part of the world founded itself on low elevation or if the material grain was sensitive, absorbing, retaining the heat. All he knew was that the sand was scalding him, branding his skin bright red through the thin fabric of his flats, as Kurta footwear wasn’t made for this type of environment. His feet sunk into the sand while the heat licked at his ankles. His soles burned. The sand seared him, cooked him, leaving what he was sure to find to be welts and blisters, and maybe a bit blood. He couldn’t feel anything beyond the hell fire underneath his feet. There was nothing he could do about it now. If he was bleeding, it was so hot the blood would dry and crust over.

But it wasn’t himself he was worried over. It hurt, but he could keep moving. If he was burning up under this desert sun, then he knew the baby in his arms must be _miserable_.

He could hear her complaints. He shielded her from the worst of the sun’s rays as best as he could and made an effort to walk along tall dunes that cast any shadow. They would need it. But the heat baked the sand he treaded through. The heat waves danced over the sand and he could almost imagine steam leaving the ground. The sight tricked him, like he was blinking through a blurry, zooming lens. Kurapika swayed on his feet, the weather dizzying. The stifling air was only getting worse and Kurapika worried, because her skin was so delicate, she was only a baby, she could suffer a heat stroke. He had no water on him for himself, nothing but the few infant bottles he nabbed that they kept next to her bed on hand. He was lucky that he had grabbed those, but they wouldn’t last her long.

He thought, he could manage a few days. Maybe. Barely. He didn’t know if he would still be walking. But he knew she would’ve been safer back at the base. It broke him inside to pull her bottle away when she was gulping and clutching with little hands for more liquid, grasping for the bottle but he had to ration it to last. She cried. She reached and stretched her hands out pitifully, and Kurapika barely steeled himself. Her sounds went from begging, hungry whimpering, into exhaustion, quicker than he was comfortable with, and he worried.

She broke and sobbed so quietly. Kurapika began to hate himself.

(He could see… he was being so selfish. He was going to end up killing the last of his kind.)

…

Night came, and with it relief. Kurapika’s legs shook from trudging through the hot sand and now they shook for a different reason, as the cold of the night sharpened. The stars peered out. Across this wide sandy expanse there were no signs of life. No light to guide him but the stars. He studied them but it’s been years since he remembered doing this with Pairo. He had never bothered using the sky for directions since the creation of his dowsing chain, but he figured this was an important lesson for him. He could no longer depend on his nen. Kurapika had only himself to depend on, his knowledge and his convictions, to get the both of them out of here alive.

By the time evening came, it felt like the heat abandoned the earth entirely, like he had imagined it all. Kurapika had never thought the cold grains could feel so relieving, inside his flats, his toes _curled_. It felt incredible, finally, for his sore, overworked feet. He knew the night would chill even further, that the cold of the desert was relentless and no oasis to fantasize about. But at the moment he didn’t care. He could bury himself in the cool sand for bed. He could dream that it was enough to wick the redness, that he could pack the sand and ease the sun burns already peeling off his skin.

He only hoped that he had made enough progress. They couldn’t survive another day here, they needed to find civilization, fast.

But for now on their second night, there were things to do. The Kurta girl stopped crying. She was fast asleep, if not by choice, she was utterly fatigued by the heat. The baby was in desperate need of a change. Kurapika utilized the chance to make it quick.

He tore off pieces of excess cloth from her blanket to use as diapers, ripping through enough material to wipe her down as well. He made do with what he could without any water at hand, using the grit to grind and slough off as much as he could. He buried any evidence deep in the sand. As a general health marker, it was concerning to see she didn’t release much of a mess. He knew it was the Saharan sun and overall hunger, the heat and residual thirst affecting the clean-up and diaper change he was performing now. Kurapika would feel grateful if he wasn’t terrified, she was already suffering the first symptoms of dehydration.

Kurapika didn’t know if this was a result of her questionable birth. To his eyes, she was still a baby. Crossing the desert was a cruel and unnecessary torture.

He kept his hands moving. He changed her into something relatively fresh in the hopes that it would cool her skin and ease her complaints, as well as stave off any irritation or diaper rash. He wrapped her in her blankets again, before the night chill could wake her. She was admittedly more hardy than she let on, much more of a forgiving baby than he deserved and could ask for. But it didn’t change the fact that she was an infant. A liability. Vulnerable. Delicate.

This was no place for her.

Kurapika tried to remember why he was doing this. He desperately reminded himself. He had saved her because she was his name: Kurta. He saved her because he saw her as the last of his clan, his dowsing chain led him to her. Only now, he doubted. What did it mean to have someone of his clan again? What could that possibly look like? This, an unknown child containing a mixture of traits that should have never been brought into existence, played with, experimented and messed with? Fueled life by the most violent and vengeful of auras that could soon develop into a monster?

Or maybe how he, nen-less, weakened, was trying to cross an unknown distance into the desert with a baby in hand and minimal supplies, while eventual pursuers located their trail. Kurapika, who had no way to fight, no way to properly determine where he was going, no way to shield her from the elements, much less from their hunters, should they end up in an encounter. He was fucking _stupid_. What the hell was he thinking? What was he going to do, take care of her himself? Become her parent, her father? He could barely stand now! What could he do about his Emperor Time stealing his years away, crippling him and accelerating his aging, who would take care of her then?

Kurapika clutched her to his chest tighter. There was no one left. No one to teach her about her cursed heritage, to teach her about the eyes. He was going to find her dead, hunted like his clan and killed with airy, empty eye sockets. She would be lucky to die in this place.

_(And then what?)_

And then what? What did his name matter? What could his clan’s pride and name possibly matter – _if they were all dead?_

He didn’t know if he was projecting all these questions onto an innocent baby… or to his lost brethren. He couldn’t tell the difference. They were one and the same now. He wondered who she was, whose eyes were used to create her, drive her, give her new life. He didn’t know if he could thank them.

Regardless, he made the mess he was in now, and he brought along another. A dependent. She needed him, her survival depended on the choices he made. There was no time to question whether he was making the right one. Only that he made a choice, to the best of his ability. One day, if they lived through this, maybe she would forgive him.

He stood from a kneeling position, dusting the sand off his clothes and her blankets. He began walking.

(All he knew was that he would never return back to that base. That was an option he didn’t want and wouldn’t allow himself to choose. For better… or for worse. Even if that meant bringing an innocent baby into the mix, he moved forward.)

…

He took a small doze at daybreak. He wanted to get in as much distance as he could while it was still dark out and cool, and while he had some measure of navigation using the stars. He would sleep during the day and make his movements at night if he could find any semblance of shelter in this arid region. Until then, he needed to keep moving. He would soon need to find water and food for himself.

At the moment, however he suffered the heat. He walked. It hadn’t even reached midday yet. At the rate he was going, he wouldn’t make it the next morning. He hadn’t had any food or drink since the dinner with Abel, and his body sorely reminded him. The salts in his muscles have sweated and left him from the heat, the sallowness of his skin made itself known. His wading through the sand was weakening. His steps were heavy and lumbering and slow, like a zombie he trudged on without the life or energy. Where was his infamous singular will and conviction? Where was his rage when he needed it the most?

At the moment, he couldn’t find it within himself. He couldn’t even think. Kurapika could only blink dumbly at the whisps of sand hitting against his face. He could only keep moving. This Sahara was draining him. Carrying the Kurta girl across had never felt so impossible. She seemed to gain weight in his hands, though the concept was illogical, he told himself. She felt heavier only because his limbs were spasming, weakening in real time.

Kurapika tried to remember. He pushed open the Zoldyck mansion gates. He passed the Hunter Exam on his first try. Now he panted for oxygen, his breath hot and burning at his face and eyes. His eyes watered from the hot air. His breathing was labored, harsh out of his lips and eerily the only sound in this grainy wasteland, aside from the sand bits rustling, whipping up in gusts of wind. His mouth dried days ago, and now it felt furry down his throat when he swallowed.

He was _thisclose_ to fainting. Kurapika looked at the sand hungrily, and the grains were growing attractive to him. The sand shifted under his feet like satin curtains slipping and sliding against each other, falling into a coiled pile. The desert material was alive. It flowed like water, spilling over when he kicked his feet forward. The ground looked so yielding, he desperately wanted to lay in it all and take a break.

He knew if he sat right now he wouldn’t get up again.

Kurapika stumbled. He fell. His knees burned bright red from the impact. His thighs shook, his muscles were _screaming_ – they trembled violently as he made himself get back up again. He struggled to stand. The baby never touched the ground.

(He won’t let her _diehere_ -)

Anger surged electricity through him. He panted, but by gods, he was standing.

Kurapika fought to recover his breath. He was hunched over and gasping for air when the Kurta girl suddenly grew excited. She stuck her hand out of her blankets, reaching for something behind him. Kurapika was confused, he blinked at seeing her eyes brighten red in wonder. Indulging her curiosity, he turned to look.

It wasn’t an enemy, thankfully. They were giant, flying-

“Sandfish.” He uttered aloud, and the baby in his arms happily voiced her agreement.

They must be far enough from civilization to find sights like this.

Right across from them, creatures burst out of the dunes. Sandfish. Cat-fish-like in appearance, their faces were flat with beady eyes spread far apart, but the size of them… they were as big as whales. Kurapika stood, awestruck. The sheer length of one of their whiskers barely brushed the top of his head. With wide, grinning mouths, they looked like they were smiling.

Kurapika knew that there were weird mysteries in the world, but this was the first he’s seen of this, outside of a picture book. It was a first for the baby girl too, understandably one of the most interesting things she’s seen in days.

The herd of sandfish paid them no mind. They disappeared back into the sand, hopping in and out of dunes like they were cresting ocean waves.

She reached up, out. Kurapika followed.

The belly of one of the fish was soaring over them, wide and expansive, its grey underbelly gleaming and glittering from the sun. It was so big, it seemed to float mid-air in slow motion. Just one sandfish was enough… The creature blocked the sun from them, casting a cool shadow over the weary travelers. He had never seen such a sight in his life.

Gon’s words about being a hunter, searching for all the amazing things the world had to offer rang through his mind. Kurapika blinked, the baby exclaimed and squealed and clapped her little hands in delight.

_‘Was it fun?’_

He hugged her tighter, closer to his chest. She reached for the flying fish. The chorus of their whale song shook across the desert.


	5. Chapter 5

The sandfish were a blessing from God. They were a chance at life that he didn’t deserve.

Kurapika had followed the herd because they were slow, with their lumbering sizes they blocked the sun and blanketed the ground in shadow, cooling the path they walked. They were convenient, relatively harmless and docile creatures, and served as entertainment to distract the baby with. She wiggled her arms out to reach them, her hands squeezing and grasping at the air as if she could one day touch their shiny gray underbelly, and they didn’t mind; they harmonized back. They seemed happy with the interaction. Kurapika wanted a way to occupy her from the heat. He followed them because he figured at least they knew where they were going, these creatures had a natural way of knowing their direction in this expansive desert, and he chose to put his trust in their instincts. For once, he chose right.

They led him to water. Kurapika’s knees trembled.

The baby wiggled in his arms, playing with the sandfish. Kurapika thought he would cry. He nearly broke down onto his knees, crumpling from the sheer stress and relief, the sound of her joyous noises tinkling in the back of his mind.

Water. They found water.

…

He realized later, after they had had some time to recuperate, rest and drink their fill, that these sandfish must have sung with a purpose. They could determine where the nearest largest source of water was using their echolation. They sent signals through the sand dunes and could read which ones reflected back. Kurapika thought he had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life.

He decided they’d stay here overnight. Although there was water now, plenty of it, he knew that the size of these fish could probably finish what’s available within hours, if he wasn’t paying attention. Granted, they were desert-born creatures, possibly used to running on very little, however he decided not to take any chances. They should stay for a couple of days, and recover what they could, enjoy the small body of water while they can. Still, they would have to leave. There wasn’t any food. Only one bush banked the oasis where he could see it, an old withering plant, yellow, drying and dying. Not as ideal as he could dream it, with fruits hanging from the trees. But he’ll take anything. He’d never felt more grateful and appreciative for the simple taste of water wetting his lips.

He felt safe here, hidden on all sides by swaths of desert but he knew that this couldn’t last. His time was limited. He watched the baby play before him, gripping sand tightly in her fists, only to blink surprised when the grains slipped through her fingers. His priority was in finding civilization first, not this.

Until then, however, Kurapika laid the both of them as close to the giant sandfish as he was comfortable, as the creatures were huge and he didn’t know if they rolled over in their sleep. Still, even as they rested and sunbathed themselves against the banks, they allowed shade. Kurapika fed the baby from her bottles, fed her as much water as she could drink and washed what cloth he could, leaving the scraps out to dry. He watched her play by herself, watched and listened to her baby noises and cheerful babble as she made avid conversation with him, before he fell asleep.

…

It was the smell that hit him first.

Kurapika left the oasis. He appreciated the water there, he was very grateful, but they needed to leave. Hunger drove him out. He had no assurance that they would find water again, much less food or civilization elsewhere, but there was no helping it. The pangs of starvation made itself known in his stomach, pounding and demanding at his brain. He suffered the worst headache of his life. If he had stayed any longer, he wouldn’t have the energy to walk from the place, and the baby had no choice.

So he walked.

There was nothing but sand before him and on all sides around him, nothing but sand and the smell. Kurapika figured that he must be currently walking over a landfill. He thought that this was quite far out into the desert, and the idea that trucks would drive out this far just to dig and bury their trash seemed like an excessive waste of tax money in his opinion. The scent of trash lofted over the sand like a blanket. It was thick and souring in the air, festering and ripening almost sweetly like rotten fruit under the heat of the sun. Even the sandfish don’t come here. He kept walking, hoping that this was a sign they were nearing civilization, even though the smell made the baby turn and fit and whine in complaint. He tried to ignore it. But the further he went the more Kurapika worried, when the smell only got worse; it was so bad it smelled like he was walking over rotting bodies.

He wondered if that was a sign he was getting close.

Bits of trash poked through the sand, shiny aluminum peeking through the grains as if they had been covered in a recent sandstorm. He watched a half-buried page flutter and flap wildly in the wind. Kurapika kept walking forward, noticing his growing distance from the dunes and that the sand around him was more compact, his flats sinking in only a few inches, not feet. A sense of hard land was coming through. His surroundings lacked the sweeping waves and deep crests of sand, his path appearing more flat and grounded. Soon, they would be hitting civilization.

He kept walking.

…

He hadn’t encountered a single soul.

The trash had gotten worse. Bigger. Taller. Mountains of trash lined the path he walked, interrupting his course at times and spilling over in a landslide. The excess flooded outward from the bottom of the mound, like the mountain was melting under its own weight. Kurapika walked around the mess as much as he could, but his flats now crunched old cans and dried-up magazines wherever he went. Garbage littered every corner of his sight. Where he was used to seeing sand for miles, rising and falling like rolling hills, now all he could see was trash, tall dump stacks that balanced precariously in the wind and blocked out the sun.

Some pieces crumbled off. Heavy metal and old mechanic parts fell and crashed with a loud clang that made him react, scaring the baby. Or an animal would rustle in a pile of rubbish then scurry away quickly upon their arrival. He clutched her to his chest tighter.

What the hell _was_ this place?

When he had walked for miles, descending them further into the dump, he suddenly realized. The sun disappeared below the horizon. He stopped and took a good look around them.

They had arrived in Ryuusegai.

…

(This was a new problem. He hadn’t expected this turn of events.)

...

There was no turning back. Kurapika couldn’t subject himself to the desert again, they had no supplies to survive it, not to mention that if they turned back now they had a high chance of encountering their pursuers, or dying lost in the desert. There was no other option. They were deep in Spider territory now, and all Kurapika could do was push forward.

He knew that this was where the Phantom Troupe originated. Ryuusegai was their home. Kurapika eyed the mountains of trash, ten-times his height and looked up at the towering structures like they were skyscrapers. Even though he had studied multiple ways on how to defeat the Troupe, endlessly researching their abilities and weaknesses… he had never bothered to view what their home was like. The smell of Meteor City mellowed into something more mild, if only because he had gotten used to it. The sun was down and the stifling heat left with it, while the chill of the night dampened the trash smell. Kurapika surveyed his surroundings, finding no sign of human beings living here and wondered if their base was nearby. If he encountered the Spiders before their pursuers… well, there’d be no saving them. They’d kill him, and her, with no mercy.

Everything would end in an instant.

He thought shamefully… that maybe that would be best. It would be better than whatever experiments Abel wanted to perform on him. Better to die quickly than to suffer in a breeding laboratory against his will. Better death than to become something truly detestable.

He didn’t want the girl in his arms to suffer the same fate.

…

There was good news and bad news:

The bad news was he’s got no nen.

The good news was he’s got no nen.

Without an aura, the Spiders couldn’t determine his location, much less whether he’s arrived. They couldn’t read of his hostility before he could reveal his presence. Kurapika knew that one of the Spiders, a man by the name of Nobunaga, was known for their mastery projection of En. The Kurta didn’t know the range of his ability, how far his En projection extended beyond himself, but now he didn’t need to know the specifics to stay safe.

Without his nen he was placed in a perpetual zetsu state, vulnerable to all attacks but safe from discovery. Should he be caught, there was no way he could fight them off but-

-should he be quick and adept, and alert, he could find a way for himself. He could avoid their presence manually. All he had to do was keep a low profile, remain calm at all times, and stick to the corners of this city if he could help it. He had to make as little interaction once he encountered any Meteor citizens, give off very little about himself. If he was lucky, the Troupe weren’t even here anyway. They were off stealing something else, somewhere else, far, far away.

Kurapika plunged the both of them further into the trash and darkness. He could only hope.

…

He found food. Or rather, food found him.

The can was a pure hand of luck. Kurapika had tripped in the darkness. Unable to find his footing, as well as being days-worth dizzy and weak on his feet, he stumbled backwards into a mound of trash. The trash crumpled at the sudden impact, indented greatly by his weight and force, until the back of the mound crashed down and spread like bowling pins.

The noise was deafening, ringing tinny in his ears. He quickly covered the baby under his chest and head before anything could fall on her. He could feel her little heartbeat quicken, scared awake by all the noise, while his pulse matched hers, pounding. He was an idiot if someone from Meteor City heard the mess he made.

Kurapika waited. The cacophony of trash rolling, toppling over the waste that carpeted the ground finally settled. Everything fell quiet. Once he was sure no one had heard him, he got up slowly and carefully, taking measures to step around the garbage so as not to upset more. The baby in his arms hiccupped, worried, and he could only hold her close, to comfort and settle down himself more than her. He was worried too.

No one had heard them.

He was cleared from the fallen trash mound, safely close to being home free before he made a mistake. The crisp clean _clank_ of metal ringing metal, like a bat hitting a baseball, made him cringe. He curled into himself, wincing. His foot accidently kicked a can.

But it was the shameful noise that caught his eye in the dark. He instinctually looked at what he kicked away. It took a moment for him to realize that it was a can, that it was edible, and notice the white on the front of the wrapping that it was a container of coconut milk.

Odd, but he wasn’t going to bite a gift horse in the mouth.

He searched and sifted through the fall out for anything else. He was unbelievably lucky; he found some more. They weren’t exactly the protein he’d need, Kurapika thought as he thumbed the can over in his hand to reveal what it was. But he would have to make do with… a small can of mushroom soup and a larger one of crushed tomatoes.

It was past a year in expiration date for the tomatoes, whereas the mushroom and coconut milk were only past due for a couple of months. He’d still eat them. He couldn’t afford to get sick but neither did he think he’d have the willpower to resist, not when he’s been craving food for days.

When he couldn’t find anything else, he left. Unfortunately, he spotted a can that must have busted open against the ground when he fell into the stack and he left that one alone, in case it’d really give him a stomach flu. Or botulism. He’d have to take his chances with what he’s got. He was really lucky, the things came with can openers, like soda. Kurapika tiptoed the stack more carefully this time, tucking his discoveries under his hold of the baby.

As he predicted, he couldn’t resist a meal. Kurapika scarfed down the food he found, almost immediately. He did try to pace himself and chew through his food. It was admittedly too much for his unprepared stomach, but after the last chug of coconut milk he had never remembered feeling so full. The baby had returned to sleep in his lap, as Kurapika sat himself on a stack of old newspapers to finish.

After he was done, he had walked, not even five minutes further inward before he found a relatively perfect place to rest for the night. It was an old, cracked tub, graying and spotted as it was falling apart in some places, with a yellow crust of a rusted water mark that circled the drain. It wasn’t perfect, but it was contained, and a lot better than the roach-infested garbage.

He’d take it.

Kurapika wanted something relatively cool and covered on all sides. Just in case. The inside was conveniently empty. If he slept here, the baby couldn’t crawl out of the tub in his sleep and wander away from him to god knows where. She’d be safe, even as he slept and couldn’t watch her, and Kurapika would be careful not to roll over and hurt her. He climbed in. He rested his weary back against the wall of the tub, already knowing how his stiff his muscles will become in the morning. He stretched his legs along the length of the tub. Kurapika laid her on his lap, wrapped her some more in her blankets before resting his neck against the edge of the tub.

It disconcerted him however… that he hadn’t found people yet. What was up with that? Where were the Ryuusegai citizens? He must be on the outskirts of the city yet. He was probably walking a lot slower than he thought. He knew it’d take time for the trash mounds to clear, relatively, and for the city of Ryuusegai to come through. Then again, he didn’t know this place at all… the citizens here may be intentionally hiding from him.

But he could think _why_ , for tomorrow. For now, though, he’d sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke to the sound of the Kurta girl crying. She was crying rivulets, must have been for a while. Her eyes were red and bruised and her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and from exhaustion. The tear streaks along her cheeks have long since dried up, leaving salt marks. She was fearful, tired, and a little messy, and her heart was pounding. Kurapika only secondly noticed the sound of engines roaring in the background; big ones.

She had a right to be scared. They were not alone.

Kurapika hugged her close until he could feel her fingers grasp his shirt, her wet nose leaving a mark on his neck. He climbed them out of the tub. He could hear the engines boom through the trash like a quake, vibrating the excess and dust from the stacks. Trash clattered and crashed to the floor, while the morning dawn hit the dust particles floating between the mounds. He hid there, in a fold between two stacks, breathing in the dust and waited. Kurapika could hear the sound of the engines clearly, but he couldn’t place them, he couldn’t source where they were coming from. Still, it was obvious they needed to leave.

These weren’t Meteor City vehicles.

He wasn’t sure if the people from Ryuusegai particularly owned cars, as there was no cleared road to drive in as far as he could see. He figured most people here would rather break a car down for parts and trade them, rather than drive. So he must be dealing with someone else. Until he knew who it was, he couldn’t be reckless. Kurapika checked all sides before quickly disappearing into another fold.

He raced, padding lightly with his flats, moving between the trash mounds on instinct. He turned the next corner and – there; they were parked closer than he thought. Kurapika peeled himself back behind a stack.

Six black SUVs parked and revving their engines in wait, the vehicles big enough to transport eight men each. So up to 48 individuals. Most likely all armed, and most likely trained, if not with some nen users. Their cars were fitted for a sand terrain, and well-equipped themselves, with weapons stationed at the roof. These were military vehicles.

Kurapika should have taken her crying as a greater sign and left in the opposite direction. Instead, he did the stupid thing, indulging his curiosity and endangering the both of them.

One of the car doors clicked open.

He glanced back. A head of white-shock hair, currently bowed as the man stepped out of the vehicle, and a quick flash of a neon green tie. Fuck. Kurapika whipped his neck to face the stacks again, his heart pounding. His eyes began to glow. His breathing became rushed. He tightened the grip in his arms and the girl couldn’t help it, her eyes matched his and she responded to the way he was reacting.

The Kurta girl began to cry.

_No, no, no…_

Kurapika quickly hugged her close to his chest. He tried to muffle her noises into his shirt. She bunched a fistful of cloth in her fingers and _pulled_ , tugging at his clothes to express her upset. She broke into a harsh sob and all Kurapika could do was hug her tighter, curling his frame over the baby in his arms. His head was bowed, blond strands hung heavily.

He begged.

“Please. Please…” He did everything he could to comfort her. His arms shook.

He prayed. Kurapika stroked her hair, bounced her on his chest. She wouldn’t stop crying. He swayed her side to side, praying all the while, hoping that the engines drowned out her noises. But once all the engines were quickly cut off-

He hoped Ay wasn’t looking here.

His voice was rusty after years of disuse. He didn’t know if he’d remember the words. The song came out strange and guttural out of his mouth, like he was in a different body that was not his own.

His voice stuttered, scared.

_“-----”_

His mom used to sing a lullaby while she cooked, humming the lyrics between the chorus. Kurapika only remembered some of the words, his lips barely forming over the language he grew up with, and he hummed the tune Melody would sing to him to calm him down.

_“-----”_

She sobbed and hiccupped and faltered, confused. She looked at him with bleary red eyes and fisted his shirt. Kurapika kept singing, voice low and soft.

_“-----”_

Slowly, it was working.

Kurapika breathed, his chest moving visibly. He exhaled deeply. He took a quick glance behind him.

Good. Ay wasn’t looking. The man was discussing something with his underlings, directing and gesturing silently with his hands. The same military signals. Kurapika took his chance.

He took off.

He had put a good distance in between them with a charged head start. He was conscious of his every step, moving around the trash quickly and quietly. But something of his hyper-awareness must have given him away. A quick flash of _life_ , of motion, must be something of a beacon here, in this land of rotting garbage. He heard someone give a shout, and then he started running.

…

Kurapika wove in between the stacks. Ay must have quickly reacted to his sighting, two of the cars revved up loudly, engines roaring. They drove forward, charging into the mounds to get a head start before him, disregarding any trash in their path. Possibly intending to cut him off at a further location.

The other men dispersed themselves.

Kurapika literally couldn’t see them. He couldn’t believe they were mafia. Only quick flashes of black suits, the shiny metals of their pistols when the sun hit right, and the distant rustles and small shuffles. The only thing that could give them away was the little shifts in the trash, and their boots quickly covering ground before stopping all of sudden. They moved just like him, in quick bursts, resting and hiding behind the stacks while still making progress. It was clear; they were trying to trap him, close in on him. He could recognize their tactics as they both moved carefully; Kurapika couldn’t help but admire their efficiency.

He knew if he bolted now he’d be caught. It’d be all over. He had to maintain this frustrating hide-sprint-hide pace because he had a baby in his arms and-

“!”

The trash next to him exploded.

They were shooting at him.

If he looked back longer he would realize that they weren’t bullets but tranquilizers – needles. He didn’t notice. Kurapika bolted.

…

It felt like he had ran for hours. In reality, it was probably only a few minutes, but the baby didn’t like the sudden quick movement.

She may have threw up a little.

Kurapika knew this kind of motion was a stressor to her. Everything was. The trash, the smell, the growing heat, the jostling and bumbling and running, the loud crashes when one of the shots fired into a mound – this was all terrifying to her. It was going to kill her, either by accident if one of those bullets strayed or it was going to make her sick. Kurapika didn’t have the time.

He ran.

He aimed and ducked for one of the first buildings he saw, hopefully with a place to hide.

…

In retrospect, he should have known better, the second he broke into rotting cathedral doors. If asked, Kurapika didn’t believe in fate, or karma, or fortune, not after what was done to his clan, not even during his time working for Nostrad’s daughter. He didn’t believe in those things because he had two goals in his life to complete: regardless of what the gods planned for him – he was going to accomplish what he set out to do. This, however, this turn of events… this had to be pure coincidence.

…

One moment he was running, weaving – cutting corners within what looked like an abandoned, dilapidated church – coursing the dark hallways like a rat in a maze while his flats beat against cold stone. The next he found himself sprinting into an open grand chamber.

He didn’t make it very far.

He felt something crumple beneath his flats. It bent like paper, but thicker, laminated and rubbery. He sent the things careening everywhere, a mess of cards sent flying into a flurry.

They burst through the air like a puff of flour dust. Kurapika ignored it and kept running. He made it as far deep into the middle of the grand room, not looking back at the mess he had made, not paying attention to the flesh moving colors at the edge of his sight. He made it as far before locking gazes with another pair of eyes. Brown, shocked; wide ones. Blond hair was slicked back, no eyebrows, but if they did have eyebrows they would be raised comically. The other looked from his face, to the baby in his arms, and then back again, eyes growing slightly larger. Kurapika stared back in what felt like slow motion, the horror and realization reaching his face.

Horrified, his eyes followed down the red stripes of what was an unfortunately green muscle track suit to… one of Killua’s brothers’, the one that tailed Lady Kikyo. The boy in the dark kimono looked up curiously between him and the Spider before him, and blinked.

It was then that all hell broke loose.

…

“Fuck!”

Kurapika flinched, and slowly marveled at the fact that he wasn’t dead yet, he had the luxury to react to the sputtered curse. He was also deftly aware of his own thoughts and their growing mortality, Kurapika turned in slow motion to the source of the sound. Before he could face them however, he was stopped; he wasn’t running anymore. Someone had seized his arm to keep him from escaping, squeezing his wrist tightly until he winced. Kurapika glared down to find a man in black, with a cloth tied over his mouth.

Small dark eyes narrowed at him, flitting across his face, searching. Thin eyebrows furrowed in confusion before softening slightly in realization. And then he returned to an unimpressed blank look, giving nothing away before sharply twisting his wrist.

Kurapika cried out, and stumbled.

All he could read was the glint that passed through his eyes, the rest of his mouth hidden under a skull-faced bandana. Kurapika’s arm twisted further, his bones were _groaning_. Air puffed out through clenched teeth, he forced himself to breathe deeply, barely restraining himself from crying out again.

Through the searing pain, he registered a muffled voice.

“Ah. The chain user has a kid. That’s too bad.”

Muscle suit, turns out, was the same idiot that answered his call when he had specifically asked for Pakunoda. He was looking down at him hunched in pain, but with curiosity.

“A little young though.”

“Live fast; die young.”

“Yeah, this was stupid.”

Kurapika could barely shift her in his other hand, his right wrist was in so much pain.

He counted to ten. He tried to breathe through the pain. Kurapika closed his eyes and frowned in concentration, trying to ignore the Spiders discussing his presence in order to think of a plan of action. He wasn’t dead yet. And so far only his arm was captured and held in restraint. If he could somehow abandon the limb, he could-

It seemed the man had noticed his closed off expression and his grip crushed his wrist, hurting and burning him. The sudden act tore a shout from his throat; the girl in his other arm started to cry. His dark eyes seemed to light up at his pain.

“You’re not going to fight back? Aw.”

“Let me at him!”

A Spider with a top knot yelled, jumping from his seat to get into the action. Kurapika saw out of the corner of his eye, how he moved a hand onto his katana, unsheathing the long sword with a _shink_. “Let me have him. I can avenge Uvo’s death right now.”

“Should’ve catch him first. Finders keepers.”

There was a whip through the air. He heard it before he saw it. A flash of metal in his sight, a little puff of wind that ruffled his bangs and before the samurai could chop his head off, he was pulled to the side just as quickly, disorienting him. He blinked.

“ _No touch_.”

Muscle suit nodded and hummed his agreement. “Yeah, hold up a sec, Nobu. We have to know why he’s here.”

The man called Nobunaga grew only more incinerated. His skin was prickling, itching and rising in ten, unsatisfied with having missed. His eyes flitted between the two Spiders, glaring and frustrated, notably bypassing his gaze over Kurapika himself. He spat. “Paku’s _gone_. We can’t read his memories-”

“You think we need to read his memories?” The short man in black challenged. Suddenly, he yanked his arm. Kurapika almost _screamed_. “Chain user will tell us the truth. Won’t you?”

Nobunaga growled and riled up. “Who cares! We don’t need to know why he’s here. The only thing that matters is that he is. If the chain bastard was stupid enough to come to us, I won’t question it...” The samurai stepped forward in a sword stance. His hand rested on his hilt. “Don’t save him a second time; Fei,” he ordered darkly.

Feitan frowned, confused. “Save-him? Me?”

“Yeah.” Nobunaga’s tone went low with promise. His aura activated. The sphere bubbled and formed around himself, sheening a bright purple en. It pulsed once with his killing intent. His aura nodes were open, steaming out his nen energy visibly. “I’ll cut you down too.”

Kurapika didn’t know how he got here. He didn’t know what was going on. One moment he was accepting, anticipating his imminent death until now where he found himself, held but crushed in the hands of one of the enemies that killed his tribe, stuck in the middle of something old.

_What?_

He could see that same something pass quickly through this man, Feitan’s eyes, bright and glinting with promise. “Oh?”

“Step away from him.”

“What if I say no.”

“I’m slicing your head off with the bastard’s.”

The corners of his bandana shifted, curling. “No.”

“I’m warning you.”

“All bark; no bite. I’m waiting.”

“Woah, hold up. Hold up, everyone, wait,” another Spider stepped in front of him. He was blonde, young, and holding his hands out to stop the other two Spiders from fighting, muscular arms on display. He waved and gestured desperately, trying to pacify the situation. “Danchou won’t be too happy to find out that you’ve killed each other over the right to kill the chain user. He would be really upset, Nobu. He said that Feitan was acting leader while he was gone.”

“So?!”

“Would you slice the head if he was here?” A deep rumble interrupted, darkening the atmosphere instantly. Kurapika blinked at the man sitting on a crate to the right of them, large without revealing his presence. His arms were crossed, he remained comfortably seated, but his eyes were staring straight at him, the scar on his face striking.

Nobunaga struggled and twitched and faltered.

“Franklin.”

Feitan pointed his umbrella. “Speak. I don’t care. Either way, it’s fine. I will win.”

“Fei…”

“Well? Will you do it?” Feitan seemed to ask through him, ignoring his presence entirely. He posed the question to Nobunaga himself, and Kurapika watched as the man visibly hesitated. The samurai lowered his sword partly.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Danchou?” A light voice offered. A woman. Kurapika turned to the new voice, finding a Spider in a black-knit sweater and jeans, short black hair and glasses. Her tone was curious, unbiased and questioning, she posed a finger to her chin in thought. “Should we flip a coin?”

Feitan mocked bitterly. His words were dripping acid.

“Nobunaga can’t wait for the coin to fall.”

“Ah, should we do something else then?”

“No,” Feitan lifted his umbrella and smartly cocked his head. “The problem is him. Nobu. Fight. Or don’t. You choose.”

The samurai hesitated. He pursed his lips tightly and Kurapika worried, he didn’t particularly want to die yet. Not with the baby in his arms. Nobunaga’s lips quivered, itching to speak, before he turned suddenly, cursing loudly. He averted his gaze from them. Finally, he released his grip on his weapon, and allowed his nen sphere to dissipate. “Fine.”

“Good.” Feitan twirled his umbrella back in place. Without a challenger to oppose his orders, the man’s attention returned onto him. Kurapika shook with a curious mixture of fear and anger. “Now you.”

The Kurta narrowed his eyes, shifting them frantically to find an open opportunity he could take advantage of. But who was he kidding? He had no nen, and even if he did, even if it was a good day there was no way he could get past them alive, or with his limbs mostly intact. Much less so with a baby in one arm and only one sore hand to defend himself with. He’d be killed the moment he moved so much as a muscle, instantly, with no question. Funny enough, his saving grace was the fact that he didn’t have any nen to fight them with. His killing aura was nonexistent, his hostility muted, and he couldn’t instinctively activate his chains and place the Troupe on their guard. He was caught, frozen in place, and he wasn’t running now. All considering, he wasn’t dead yet. Relatively speaking, they were at ease.

These Spiders… he didn’t know what to think of them. He didn’t expect to still be alive – and talking – to be given the chance to speak and answer. They were not supposed to wait and listen for his response; they were not merciful people. But neither were they as ruthless as he had thought.

The baby was still breathing and crying into his chest, and he could thank someone for the small mercies where he could find them. He clutched her tighter.

Scar-man, Franklin, spoke with a low boom that resonated the room.

“Why are you here?” he started for their acting leader. Kurapika breathed and exhaled consciously.

He took too long to answer.

Before he could formulate a response, Feitan squeezed his wrist. Kurapika cried out in pain. “The truth. No lie.”

Kurapika could almost laugh desperately; it hurt so much. He panted; he grunted out. “Coin…ci-dence.”

“Coincidence?” He squeezed again. Kurapika _screamed_. “No. You want to kill us. You killed Uvo.”

He could only gasp and hack out air respectively.

“Did this guy really kill Uvo?”

“That’s what Danchou said.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Feitan twisted his arm even further. Kurapika dimly wondered as the sweat burned dripping into his eyes, how that was even possible. “You fight him. You win. You want to fight us?”

 _No, no…_ Kurapika could only shake his head. Blonde strands hung limply.

“You want to kill us?”

Muscle suit pointed out the obvious. “The chain user has a baby now.”

At the words, Feitan relaxed his grip. Kurapika could almost crumple in relief. “You have a baby. Mini chain user. What if I kill it-”

“No!” The Kurta surprised himself. He yanked at his arm through the pain, barely registering. The short man in black only blinked, didn’t budge his grip. He was slightly surprised when Kurapika’s eyes brightened, but then fell back, unimpressed.

“Huh,” Muscle suit commented unhelpfully.

“I don’t understand. Why is he not fighting? _Why are you not fighting?_ ” Feitan twisted his arm, and the Kurta grimaced. The man narrowed his eyes, his voice low. “Don’t insult us.”

“Resisting or no resisting, doesn’t matter…” The Samurai stepped forward. He scratched the back of his neck casually but the cool action contrasted sharply with the glare focused on him. “I can chop off his head where he stands.”

Before their acting leader could let him, Franklin interrupted.

“Wait. He was running from something.”

“Ehh…” The young blonde from earlier rejoined the conversation. He thought aloud and suddenly came to a realization, his fist smacking like a hammer into his palm. He nodded and gave a cheerful hum of agreement. “The chain user must have wanted to hide, he wouldn’t run here. He must have pursuers out there, they must be outside looking for him.”

Kurapika twitched with irritation. He thought he hated this smiling, young blond the most. He could hate him for his words as they were all true, deathly true, and Kurapika couldn’t help but to react. The Troupe members noticed the way he flinched in reaction.

“Maa, I guess I was right.”

“Running? Hiding? From the wife?” Muscle suit guessed, and Kurapika thought he could feel his eyebrow twitch and spasm in irritation. He hated Spiders. “Maybe marital problems?” he offered stupidly.

Kurapika didn’t get the chance to speak.

Nobunaga rolled his eyes. “Great, now we know. Let’s kill him.”

Feitan squinted. “You messed up our game.”

“Yeah, I was winning.”

“Phinks was not winning. But you run in the wrong place, chain user.”

Blondie suggested smartly, one finger raised in suggestion. “Why don’t we just give him to them then? This has nothing to do with us.”

Kurapika really hated him.

He shook a little and Feitan noticed.

“Oh? Scared?”

Kurapika didn’t say a thing. He didn’t dare respond, for fear of what they would react.

“Oi, I’m hurt.”

“Don’t ignore us.”

They were like children. These Spiders would hound on him until he gave in.

And Kurapika was so tired. He was tired of running, tired of fighting. He had found another of his clan only to lose her as soon as he had found her. He had found a reason for living, only to come face to face with the end of his life.

He didn’t know how else he could save _hers_.

“Just kill me,” he said.

He gave in. He gave up. He was tired. If he was eventually killed he could die happy with the knowledge that at least the last of his clan was still alive, and that their race would continue. Though she wouldn’t know any of it. She would grow up without any awareness of the blood running in her veins, and she would live separate from the cursed history that followed him and doomed their people. She would be free.

He doubted that the Spiders could be so merciful.

Kurapika wondered idly, looking into those detached, dark eyes… if that’s what his people were thinking of in their last moments. If they were thinking of him. Did they find relief in knowing that he would live?

The man restraining his wrist was unimpressed.

 “Why?”

“She’s just a baby. It’s me you want, isn’t it?” Kurapika couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, how he got to this moment. He was actually begging his mortal enemies to spare a life. “You can let me leave her somewhere. This city accepts all its members. You can kill me instead.”

Feitan huffed under his bandana in humor. Kurapika could see his mouth shift and twitch underneath.

He was _laughing_.

“ _Why would we do that?_ ”

The other Spiders cut in all at once.

“It’s a girl?”

“Looks nothing like him.” Phinks commented pensively.

“Where’s the mom?” Shizuku wondered.

Nobunaga burst. “Fuck that! What if she grows up and takes revenge too!”

The man restraining his wrist lifted a hand to reestablish order. The Spiders came silent.

“Danchou ordered us once to kill them all… We won’t forget one this time.”

He met their interim leader’s cold, dark gaze. His eyes widened. They reddened suddenly, flooding with color, burning and watering, and Kurapika feared.

He watched as Feitan casually pulled out his umbrella. He watched as the man pointed the thing at him. The Spider looked him in the eyes, searching, flitting, and Kurapika struggled but couldn’t do a damn thing.

“Who is he?” a small voice asked.

Killua’s brother, Kalluto, broke the stillness.

Feitan’s eyes glinted. He lowered his umbrella, and Kurapika was struck frozen. “Someone not important. Danchou will come later to talk to him. And then we will kill him.”

He let go of his arm. He dropped him where he stood. Kurapika released the breath he was holding all at once, gasping. He tucked his arm under the other, under the baby, while the baby’s noises finally began to register in his mind.

“You give up too soon. You’re no fun.” Feitan turned away from him, leaving him hunched and curled over in pain.

“Looks like the tables have turned,” Phinks commented.

“Che.” The man called Nobunaga sharply cursed. He stomped off as soon as he realized the tense atmosphere had died, and that no action would happen.

The woman asked curiously. “What does that mean?”

The man called Phinks answered her question. “Chain user must have lost his chains. That’s why he’s not fighting us.”

His words damned him, embittering. Kurapika could only curl around the baby in piss poor protection, and say nothing.

Feitan spoke. “We can wait for Danchou. Danchou will figure it out. There’s no way he can run from us.”

Phinks shrugged his agreement, turning away from the scene too. Some Spiders already returned to their seats calmly. He added for Killua’s brother’s benefit, and probably the woman’s. “Plus, if we kill him now we will have nothing to store the eyes in.”

“Oh.” Kalluto nodded mutely. The woman blinked.

Kurapika _shuddered_.

They waited.


	7. Chapter 7

It felt like hours. Kurapika couldn’t do a thing. The Troupe returned to their game casually, making idle conversation with one another and playing as if he wasn’t there at all. But their carefree, laid-back atmosphere was a front, a cover of easy-going comraderie between friends. If he so much as twitched they would close in on him so fast. Kurapika knew that under the guise of playing cards, they were watching him closely. Even as the Spiders chatted and shared beers, Kurapika could feel that the air was fake, and that his actions were weighted. Somebody laughed in the background and it chilled him, watching these killers play cards like children, knowing that after they finished their game he was next. Kurapika’s heart beat faster and he tried not to look at them.

On the other hand, the baby was thankfully asleep. She was tired, exhausted of her own tears and strained of all the activities she had to experience for the day, and she fell into a fitful slumber. Kurapika was deeply grateful, he didn’t think he could handle comforting her now.

One moment they were relaxed and playing games and passing jokes at one another until their play had suddenly stopped. They were captivated by something else entirely. Kurapika didn’t have access to his nen to feel the change in the air, but he could read the change in their expressions. The Spiders seemed to come alive, with joy. The light grew in their eyes. They had nen so they could feel it, when their leader was coming. Their excitement was palpable, vibrating; Chrollo was close.

This whole time they hadn’t addressed him, leaving him alone to nurse at his wrist, allowing him the privacy of a crate to himself. Kurapika jumped when a hand was placed on his shoulder where he was sitting.

He learned his name was Shalnark, smiling.

When seeing his reaction his hand left him immediately. Both of them went up in false surrender, offering his submission. The blond shied closer, slowly, like coaxing an animal.  

“Okay, okay, don’t be scared. We won’t bite.”

Nobunaga grunted and stiffly turned his gaze. Feitan huffed.

“He’s not stupid.”

Phinks nodded in agreement. “Don’t bother, Shal. He’s a dead man and he knows it.”

“I was just thinking his heartbeat’s so loud we can hear it from here!”

“Is it?” Phinks mused aloud, eyes off into the broken glass ceiling. For a moment he blinked, and then, he shrugged. “Well, we’ve been waiting all day. I can’t wait to get this over with.”

Kurapika’s heart sunk.

Shalnark hummed softly, “Yeah, that would be nice,” he said, gazing off in thought. He perked up suddenly. “Hey, do you think Danchou will want his abilities?”

Phinks blinked. Nobunaga choked and hacked on a toothpick he was using to clean his teeth. Feitan frowned.

“Why not? What can stop him?”

“If he steals his abilities he can’t kill him, right?”

Kurapika straightened and looked up suddenly.

Franklin warned in a deep voice. “Shal. Don’t.”

The blond _smiled_.

“Oh no, Nobunaga, what will you do?”

“Then there’s no way he wants them then!” the samurai exclaimed. He cursed and stood abruptly, the crate he was sitting on crashing. He was so angry, he looked ready to stomp off to Chrollo himself to ask.

Kurapika could see that this group of Spiders easily picked on their own. He thought he felt sorry for him.

Shalnark didn’t want to ruin the fun by him leaving. “Aw, why not?” he pouted with a face. But his sympathies were fake and put-upon. His voice was rich with teasing, and his eyes were bright with knowing mirth.

Feitan caught on quick, the sadist. The corners of his bandana twitched upwards. “Oi, Nobu. You wanna bet? 20 mil jenny, Danchou will steal his abilities or kill him.”

“I bet he’ll kill him.” Phinks said.

“I think he wants his chains.” Shalnark said.

“He beat Uvo, didn’t he?” Shizuku offered.

“Shut up! He doesn’t want the chain bastard’s fucking ability. I’ll get to kill him; Danchou promised me. Danchou wants him dead too,” Nobu insisted pointedly, but his voice faltered as if he was trying to convince himself.

Shalnark laughed it off, waving offhandedly. “Okay, okay, no need to cry now.”

Kurapika frowned. He didn’t intend to learn more about the social inter-workings of the Spider but it seemed as if he was getting a first-hand glimpse of who they were without any outside influence – he got to see them the one time they weren’t killing. Unfortunately despite himself, it helped him understand some things about what had happened two years ago, back in York New. Some were upset and still in mourning at the deaths of Uvogin and Pakunoda-san. Most have already moved on. If he could name the feeling, place it somewhere and categorize it properly in his mind he would say he actually felt bad for Nobunaga, maybe he could even relate. The samurai felt serious feelings of hate and vengeance that _he could say_ _the same onto them_ , only for his own friends to disregard the things and taunt him for it.

Uvogin must have been someone particularly important to him.

But he couldn’t care less about these band of criminals, especially when they acted like a bunch of grown children. Feitan was supposed to be their leader, but he was cheeky, while Shalnark was the evilest bully around.

The blond refused to give up. He continued to start conversation.

“Hey, what’s her name?”

The rest of the Spiders returned relatively to their own conversations, Nobunaga grumbling his way to find a seat. Kurapika blinked.

He was actually stumped for once.

His voice came out cracked and rusty. “What?”

Shalnark smiled brightly, like he saw him as an old friend. He pointed to the baby and conveyed interest in her, as if they were friendly neighbors, kindly strangers bumping into each other on the street. “What’s her name? She has one right?”

Phinks drawled boredly. “What does it matter? She’s dead too, Shal.”

“No need to learn mini chain user name. Waste of time.”

“But she’s cute, isn’t she?”

They all inspected her.

Phinks cocked his head. “You think?”

Feitan scrutinized the person in his arms. “Tiny.”

Kurapika hesitated, unnerved by the sudden attention he was getting directed at his arms, and horrified at the turn of the conversation. He had no idea how it got here, or where it was going. He couldn’t believe he was responding to them.

“She doesn’t have one yet. I hadn’t thought to name her.” He adjusted her closer.

They all looked at him.

Kurapika shifted, skin prickling uneased by the staring and with something of embarrassment racing across his cheeks.

Feitan’s expression went loosely blank, and Shizuku blinked in surprise. Phinks, out of all people, raised a nonexistent eyebrow at him. Kurapika glared.

“Well?”

“What.”

“Why not now?” Shalnark cut in with a suggestion.

Kurapika could only dimly stare at him.

“You could give her a name now, before-”

Kurapika twitched.

“Before you murder the both of us.”

“Yeah!”

Kurapika’s brows twitched and struggled, fighting for the appropriate expression.

“What does it matter? What are you trying to do?” He spoke coldly, but quickly, building in his momentum. He was sorely tired, stressed to all his wits, cranky and eyes red and about seconds from death, and this Spider was _joking_ with him, chatting amiably. He was not amused. “Your leader will be here in a matter of seconds, and by then we’ll both be out of your lives forever. Isn’t that what you want?”

Shalnark hummed in thought, with a finger poised on his chin. “Mm, no, not really,” he shrugged.

Phinks got comfortable enough to lean back, fold his hands behind his head and close his eyes. Feitan was visibly bored.

Franklin, on the crate to the right, rumbled deeply. “You get ahead of yourself chain bastard.”

Kurapika whipped his neck to direct his glare at him.

“You’re not exactly our priority right now. We don’t care all that much, and Danchou might be particularly forgiving, if you’re lucky.”

“Fuck that,” Nobunaga muttered.

Franklin continued. “We either kill you and take your eyes, or we sell you back to whoever’s out there looking for you, after Danchou has taken your abilities. It’s not that hard. Those are the only two outcomes. There’s nothing more to say after that,” he deftly ended the conversation.

Kurapika, on the other hand, struggled to keep his anger in check. His fists clenched until they left marks into his skin, knuckles whitening. He kept his gaze low from showing the way his eyes glowed in pure fury at the calm dismissal. Kurapika wanted to fight, he wanted to punch, he wanted to activate his chains at them _perfectly sitting there_ , calmly, coolly, loitering around like they’ve done nothing wrong; he wanted to _scream_. He hated being so helpless. He hated the wait.

Should Chrollo come any sooner, he’d jump. The Spiders relaxed and chatted and smiled amongst one another, knowing that their leader was nearby. It unnerved him and slightly disgusted him, that they could look so human. So normal. He didn’t know what to do.

He clutched her tighter.

She slept so peacefully despite this. She had no clue. But if there was one thing he could admit and agree with the Spiders on, was that they were right. It was only fair.

He’d like to give her a name. Something she could have, something that was hers. He couldn’t give her a life but he could give her his name. That way if she was somehow spared – he had already accepted his imminent death – then even if she never knew of her own clan she’d have something that was hers and hers alone. Something that couldn’t be taken.

He should give her a name before-

…

The air stilled. Instantly, the Spiders fell silent.

He could hear the slow, weighted steps as Chrollo walked into the room, the trash under his boots crunched softly. Kurapika, like the rest of the Troupe, couldn’t help but to follow him with his eyes. Chrollo made his way around the lower seating crates that were for the limbs of the Spider, to an empty higher loft area. It was an alcove, initially hidden within a circle of crates, but now Kurapika marveled at how he missed such an obvious arrangement. The seat was a throne, for him.

Chrollo took his seat. It seemed that all the Spiders straightened at his arrival, following with their necks at his entrance. They threw at his feet their attention, utterly magnetized. Some stood, some moved closer, walking tentatively towards where he sat. Joy was written across their face, the light widening their smile. They loved their leader; it was clear to him as day.

It scared the shit out of him.

Chrollo smiled upon seeing the rest of his Troupe. Kurapika could see the way they all silently fought to speak first, school children vying for his attention. Dogs wagging their tails.

“Danchou!”

“Welcome back.”

“Did we win?”

“Danchou! How was the trip?”

They were all deftly ignoring him, chatting with their leader about other, more important things.

Chrollo humored their flood of questions.

His voice was warm. “It went well. We should be receiving a notice within the next few days,” he said.

Shalnark greeted cheerily, his smile bright. “I didn’t forget you two, Machi, Koltopi!”

The woman responded coolly. “Shal. I see you’ve been keeping busy.”

“Of course.”

“Danchou! What about that rival family? That bodyguard of theirs was really powerful,” Phinks grinned, stretching and flexing his triceps. He rolled his shoulder until it popped and cracked his neck audibly; proudly. He seemed to be winding his arm in gleeful anticipation.

Chrollo hummed. “I’ve taken his nen and put it to use. So long as his own people don’t betray him the condition will still hold effect. We can see what happens in a few days. By the time they figure it out, we’ll be long gone.”

“Of course, Danchou! Then we can sell their shit, right?”

“Where will we be going next?” Shizuku wondered.

Machi suggested. “Malii? Danchou hasn’t seen the beach in a while.”

Feitan disagreed. “No. Danchou wants to see the new movies. We will be going to Hollytree.”

Shizuku started. “I would like to see-”

Chrollo peacefully closed his eyes as his Spiders bickered amongst each other. The man addressed him quietly.

“You can come closer if you’d like.”

Kurapika froze. He had the small, insistent hope to come across as being insignificant, unimportant and uninteresting to this man. He had hoped to be invisible. But it seemed that Chrollo made the point to single him out. Now Kurapika had no place to run or hide, before his piercing, gray eyes. He had nowhere to go. The rest of the Spiders glanced and momentarily acknowledged him; while Machi inspected him closely.

“The chain user,” she stated.

Kurapika stayed quiet, tightening his grip on the girl in his arms.

“Danchou. What do you want to do?” The Spider woman asked, without moving her gaze.

Those icy blues were searing him. Picking him apart at the seams.

Kurapika’s breath came in faster and faster as she took steps towards him; he feared that she was the one who would do the honors.

Chrollo’s words blanketed the air.

“Does he have the Eyes on him? Check.”

Kurapika stood abruptly, kicking the crate beneath him.

“No,” he said. His threat was empty, but his stance was firm. He edged away from the Spider woman, moving slowly towards the center of the room. He could never escape in a million years, but he could at least make himself known.

He was pulling what was in his arms away from reach. “I have nothing for you,” he warned, eyes glowing.

Chrollo stared at him.

“What’s that in your arms?” he asked with unblinking curiosity.

At the simple request, Kurapika hesitated. He hesitated to show him the Kurta girl for fear of how he would react. But as of yet he wasn’t slaughtered where he stood. Chrollo was more curious at him, than he was vindictive at the slight to his authority. He was like a young boy, open and unoffended, he wanted to know why he was here earnestly.

Kurapika lowered his arms to reveal a small face swathed in blankets. Chrollo blinked.

“Danchou.”

The Spider leader hummed in unspoken agreement.

He commented. “I never pegged you for someone to have children.”

Kurapika glared and _breathed_.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” he said in a rush.

“Unless…” Chrollo rose slowly. He stepped down, and Kurapika couldn’t do a damn thing. Kurapika watched as he made his way towards him, stopping about a meter away. The man stared at his baby.

Chrollo was looking at her blankly, like she was the drab scenery outside a window, unmoving, uninteresting. He was bored. Kurapika couldn’t stop his hand from brushing lightly at her face, sweeping her baby hairs to the side. Kurapika flinched, but couldn’t move a muscle, not with how close Chrollo was being, his nen aura output muted and exuding calm. He was trying to reassure him. Kurapika feared, but didn’t have the courage to take a step back. He discarded his pride, stilling himself like a deer trapped inside death’s jaws. He stopped struggling. He allowed and indulged the Spider leader, appealing to the man’s curiosity to his content. Kurapika wanted to live a little longer.

When he was done and satisfied and Chrollo pulled his hand away, Kurapika let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding; shaking. His heart pounded in his ears. “She’s not yours.”

He exhaled.

“So what?” he growled, on the defensive. He knew he was playing a dangerous game. But the more he was cornered the more he wanted to lash back, claw, mangle and tear at him. He wanted to fight, even if it was the stupid thing to do. Kurapika lost all but the last thread of basic reasoning, he barely had any control over his struggling emotions. He was breaking, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

His eyes were so bright, they hurt. His skin was burning.

Chrollo was watching them.

Gray eyes followed his avidly, searching and unblinking. Chrollo was so focused in his gaze that he was completely unbothered by his acerbic response, letting it pass. He didn’t mind. He was more curious at the color, at the way it shifted orange, pinker, white. Meanwhile, Kurapika trembled.

The Kurta thought it was the indignation, the anger. Fury coated his veins, pumping him with something black and sick. But it wasn’t his rage as that was closely familiar, something he could easily recognize. No; it was fear… pure unadulterated fear, more than he had ever felt in his life. When Chrollo stepped closer, the motion drove his heart to impossible speeds. He thought he was already dying.

It was so much more worse when there was something to protect, something the Spider leader could take from him. It was better back then, when he was alone with nothing to lose.

Chrollo was indifferent to the thoughts he was currently fighting.

“So? You enter my base, with a baby that isn’t yours without stating your intentions. Are you a threat?”

“Do you see me chaining anyone now?” he spat bitterly.

When he lowered his gaze and muttered curses at them, Chrollo chose to ignore the acid in his tone.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I ran into the first place I saw.”

“From what?”

“Mafia.”

“Friends?”

Kurapika shook his head.

“Traders?” Chrollo guessed, and watched his face closely when he was right. “So then you ran here to escape. Why not use your chains?”

“Sealed,” he spat, and as he predicted, Chrollo _smiled_.

“Is that so,” his voice curled with amusement.

He was _laughing_ at him.

Kurapika was infuriated.

“ _Yes_ – Now do you have anything you want to do with me? Just get it over with,” he muttered, looking away from those grey eyes. He couldn’t believe the man was finding humor in his situation, smirking at his predicament. He wanted to punch him.

“‘Get it over with’… I’m not so sure I know what you mean,” Chrollo said knowingly. His eyes were bright and gleaming.

Oh, this was rich coming from him.

“Are you joking with me?” Kurapika glowered, trying to stare him down. But he felt thin in his abused clothes, small and weak after this whole month of events. He couldn’t manage to convey half the vitriol he felt; he could only feel tired. He muttered snidely, shaking, frowning to himself. “Your damn Spiders wouldn’t kill me because they need to wait for _Dad’s permission_ first,” he emphasized pointedly, not looking at him.

Kurapika was crabby, hungry, a little thirsty and ridiculously sweating, a combination of the growing heat and the seriousness of the situation he was in right now.

“Make it quick, already.”

He clutched at the girl’s blankets, squeezing until his knuckles whitened. He didn’t know if these Spiders could be so kind. He curled over her, waiting.

Feitan adjusted and fixed at his bandana. “We don’t follow orders from you,” he muffled into the cloth.

Phinks drawled. “Eh, I didn’t want it anymore.”

“Danchou,” the samurai spoke, his voice quiet and low. He wasn’t even looking at his leader, he was staring straight at him. “Allow me, Danchou. Just say the word.”

Chrollo waited patiently through his Troupe's commentary.

“Those men out there… they’re looking for you, aren’t they?”

Kurapika recoiled, and said nothing, but he was right.

“What do you plan to do?”

He didn’t want to answer.

He averted his gaze away, hiding the look in his eyes. He knew that Chrollo must be smiling.

“Did you do something to incite them?”

He shifted and curled further.

The Spider leader’s voice was rich with warmth. “I’ll take that as a yes. What was it? You have quite the charge looking for you, you’re quite the popular man.”

He hated this man’s persistent curiosity.

It was also the only thing keeping him alive at the moment. Curiosity. Interest. Amusement. Chrollo hadn’t killed him yet because he wanted to hear a story, he wanted to know exactly how he had fall.

Kurapika’s words were cold and biting. “I didn’t do anything more that they haven’t done to me.”

Chrollo was silent for a moment.

Kurapika thought he was done with his questioning, unsatisfied with the curt answers he’d been giving him and ready to finish him off until he concluded.

“So you stole her.”

Kurapika lashed a glare back onto his face. “ _No_.”

“No?”

“She’s my clan,” he pleaded.

“We killed them all back then.”

Kurapika hitched his breath; suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He tried to keep his chest swelling, his eyes open. But his sight was tinged red, everything red.

“All except for you, of course. I’m not sure what you’ve been told but if you know any better this girl’s not your kind.”

Kurapika was furious.

“What do you know?! What do you care? You-”

Chrollo didn’t give him the satisfaction to finish. “I don’t. Believe me or not, it’s up to you.” The Spider leader shrugged, and began to turn away. “Fine. You can go,” he offered off-handedly.

Kurapika blinked.

Chrollo was already walking, returning to his seat. Kurapika stared at him, while some of the Spiders returned to their respective seats once the discussion was finished, the threat neutralized and false alarm confirmed. Nobunaga stood unmoving, staring as much in horror as him.

“Danchou…”

“He’ll die either way or get captured. I don’t need to lift a finger. If he has come here, then he’s already lost.” Chrollo sat and opened his book. Nobunaga frowned, while his leader began reading.

“They’ll come in here any second now,” he said without looking up.

Nobunaga relaxed a little.

The samurai released his grip on the hilt of his sword, fingers twitching before coming to a rest at his side. He tucked his hands in his sleeves, crossing his arms stiffly. His words were rough and he glared. “There, you heard him. Now go,” he muttered, and left curses as he retreated begrudgingly.

They were letting him go.

Kurapika’s eyes widened, brightened.

They were letting him _go_.

 _No…_ Kurapika began to hyperventilate and breathe sharply. He didn’t know what to do.

There was no way he could run any further. He couldn’t hide amongst the stacks outside as this was the only structure for miles, they’d see his exit clearly. These people had him cornered and possibly knew the layout better than him. Not to mention he couldn’t move fast enough with how ragged he was now. The air had left him all at once, the moment he learned that he would live, but it was chased with a bitter aftertaste of apprehension and doubt. Where would he go? He can’t go back out there, and it seemed those men knew of the spider lair, they refused to search for him here.

“Hey, chain bastard.”

It was Nobunaga, the samurai.

“If you overstay your welcome I’ll kill you,” he promised.

Kurapika glared back.

Not that the rest of the Spiders cared or reacted, but they were curious, all of them were curious. Feitan came forward at the start of action.

“Oh? You want to stay? You want to play a game?”

Kurapika shifted his look onto him instead, while taking a step back. He knew he meant a rigged game, one where he would automatically lose. Possibly a torture session, only fun for him.

Phinks offered. “Oi, why’d you freeze up? You need directions or something?”

He felt his voice get caught in his throat, trapped.

“You really don’t want to get caught, huh?” Shalnark spoke for him, smiling.

Kurapika lashed his attention onto the muscular blonde.

Shalnark moved closer, and Kurapika breathed harder, panicking, backing. He only made it as far as the middle of the room goes, away from the gangster samurai that hated him, the Spider woman that would have shredded him, and the Spider interim leader that would have enjoyed it.

Franklin was the one who spoke, deep, from behind him. “You might as well get it over with. Nobu’s right. If you stay too long we’ll kill you.”

He knew that.

“How much?” Kurapika breathed, clutching the girl to his chest. His eyes were lowered in submission.

“Huh?” Shalnark asked smiling, coming closer. Feitan’s eyes glinted with something unfamiliar.

“What's he talking about? What’s wrong with him?”

“Money?” Phinks suggested.

Machi defended, “I only charge for my surgeries.”

Chrollo was the only one interested. He lifted his attention from his book.

He was looking at him, inspecting him closely. He read every line and facet of his expression like he was an open book, picking him apart like a character in a story and reading through all his thoughts and motivations. Kurapika could do nothing but bear his close inspection, his staring.

He shifted, uncomfortable under his gaze, and sorely exposed.

“What are you offering?” his deep voice echoed.

Kurapika shuddered.

“Mafia frequent this city often… for hitmen, isn’t it?” he began softly, his voice a delicate whisper.

Chrollo hummed his agreement, and his encouragement to continue. The Spider leader continued to stare and say nothing.

Kurapika didn’t want to have to ask.

“ _How much._ ” He bowed his head, bangs falling in his face, covering his eyes. He didn’t want them to see, to see his face, to watch him fall. He didn’t want them to see the streaks running down his cheeks.

“Yes, but what are you asking?” Chrollo insisted gently, and Kurapika couldn’t bear it.

He couldn’t say it, he couldn’t do it!

Chrollo sighed.

“Are you scared?” he asked and placed his book down. Kurapika heard him moving to him. He portrayed a calm front and quiet power that pissed Kurapika immediately on principle, his lips thinning. Even when Chrollo was at his mercy, Kurapika could only lash out in his upset, beating a man in restraints. This Chrollo here was patient with him, it was so patronizing and _damning_.

Kurapika trembled.

“I will give you the only thing of value I have."

He couldn’t lift his eyes. Not when the shame was leaking from them, searing his cheeks and red-branding him. The salt was fire for his sins; his eyes burned. Kurapika couldn’t bear his quiet observation.

Feitan huffed a laugh at him. “Heh. What’s that? You don’t have any money.”

Phinks added unhelpfully. “No nen, too.”

“No nen. No money. You have nothing.”

“Maybe his Hunter’s license?” Shalnark suggested.

Kurapika shook his head.

“What is it?” Chrollo ignored his troupe and asked him.

He was looking at him so quietly. Dark eyes large and unblinking. There was no preconception in them; they were innocent, no suspicion. His words were so soft.

Kurapika felt like he was breaking, falling.

How could they not have suggested it first?

“Didn’t you take them before?! Don’t you want them anymore?!” he cried out, shouting. Kurapika glared at the man, his eyes a sparkling scarlet. They glimmered and came alive with an emotion he couldn’t control, spilling its beautiful color and pooling in his eyes. His tears ran down freely. The color swirled with life, boiling with emotion, flickering as he struggled. He tried to control the intensity but it felt like they were burning him; they were the brightest he had ever felt in his life.

“ _Help me._ I will pay you with my eyes.”


	8. Chapter 8

His words had struck them silent. They surprised even him, coming out of his mouth. Kurapika was momentarily horrified, his hand twitching to slap over himself. But he barely tightened his fists to his sides. He bit down on his lips, to keep from taking the words back, and his mouth quivered. He forced himself to swallow his pride, and the protests died bubbling in his throat. He wanted to take those words back, Chrollo could see it in his face, the way he accidentally dug a hole for himself. Kurapika glared to try to hide the way he was scared inside, shaking. Chrollo didn’t turn away from him.

All the other Spiders were struck silent. Then, motion.

“The hell we will!”

That was Nobunaga, yelling. His face twisted in violent rage, the lines of his face etched and deepened into his skin, darkening. Kurapika flinched at his outburst.

His aura exploded. The purple, murderous nen seeping out of him was so foul it was visible; it seemed to grow exponentially. Nobunaga walked towards him slowly, hand on hilt and menacing in his look. Kurapika glared at him in turn, backing away from the man.

“If you can’t go, not our problem,” he promised, moving with intent. Chrollo wasn’t stopping him. Kurapika guessed this would be the expected result.

He was stupid.

He had thought they wanted his eyes. He had thought they wanted things of considerable worth. But they only wanted of his death, they were bored with his people’s eyes and he had made a mistake. The Spiders may have listened to his reasons but they were far from sympathetic, far from having mercy. There was no dealing with them.

The Spiders never intended to let him go free in the first place. They were waiting for his death, and that’s why he was allowed to leave. It was to be expected that this should be the result; this would be his due for spurning his clan’s gift.

He thought, they must have considered him too weak and insignificant to kill themselves; they would rather watch and wait as someone else finished the act for them. He wasn’t worth the effort. They could instead wait to witness his end, and then pick his corpse for the eyes.

That must’ve been Chrollo’s plan… and the reason why the Spider leader remained mute, staring at him. The look was so close and dismantling, Kurapika felt humiliated at the thought that the Spider leader was currently assessing his worth. Turning over the deal in his mind. But it was his fault in the first place, for offering. He should not be surprised at being looked at like an object, nor angry when the Spider leader was giving his offer serious consideration. Kurapika shifted uncomfortably under the penetrating look, but forced himself to stay in place under his gaze.

The rest of the room darkened, narrowing into focus. Nobunaga came near. The rest of the background with the other Spiders faded from his immediate sight, under the weight of his aura. Kurapika focused on the danger before him.

“No one gives a fuck about your eyes here,” he said as he thumbed the hilt of his sword, like taking off the safety of a gun. Kurapika was frozen.

He didn’t know what to think of that at the moment.

He wasn’t given the chance to respond to that statement. Before he could speak his last words, and before he was beheaded entirely, Shalnark posed a question.

“What stops us from taking them now?” he suggested.

Machi blinked, bored. Feitan’s eyes glinted dangerously.

“Ah, yeah, you’re right.” Shizuku nodded to herself.

Feitan dropped from his perch on the crates, his nen aura brimming.

“Wait, Nobu. I want to hear his answer.” The short Spider was joyous, interested in his motivations. His bandana lifted at the corners.

Kurapika never knew a Spider’s eyes could be so bright, with happiness and excitement. He never knew that they could be so dangerous once they came alive. Feitan only wanted to figure out the best ways to torture him, by learning of his hopes.

Chrollo remained disturbingly silent in all this.

What the hell did he expect? What was he hoping for? Kurapika kept glancing at the man for his input, as if waiting for the one order that would save his life. His best option was that their leader would want his eyes enough to spare him from his Troupe, and maybe his nen. But the Troupe had more voice than he had thought.

He tore his gaze away from their mute leader to respond to the question. “Nothing,” he said.

Kurapika was vibrating with an energy he didn’t have, quaking with a hidden determination. He couldn’t stem the words coming out of his mouth. “Nothing stops you from taking my eyes now, though I will do everything in my power to keep them from turning,” he promised darkly, glaring.

Feitan _grinned_.

“And the baby?” the Spider challenged him, gleeful at his change in expression. Some of the other Spiders shifted at the tension in air; Phinks whistled.

“Nice.”

“Pretty.”

He wasn’t crushed. He was _furious_.

Kurapika’s words couldn’t match the way his eyes burst with color, instantly angered at the slight. Pissed at himself for forgetting something so important.

It took 128 lives to make 37 pairs.

Shalnark smiled.

“Maa, it was just an honest question, no need to get upset.” He was beaming.

Kurapika’s heart jumped at the words, and he hurried to contain himself and return his eyes to brown. He blinked the water away rapidly, trying to hide.

But he wasn’t fooling himself. It was a trap. These Spiders were fast enough in his state of powerlessness to swipe his eyes the instant he turned, before he could see them coming.

“It’s too bad we don’t have anything to store the eyes in...” Shalnark mourned aloud, false dejection in his voice. “Aww. Oh well,” he shrugged.

Nobunaga stepped forward. “In that case,” he said ominously.

Kurapika’s heart accelerated. He watched as the Spider unsheathed his sword slow motion, the sound of metal scraping metal piercing like an prolonged scream, before falling silent. Nobunaga had the skill to pull it out quietly but there was no reason to try for him. Kurapika didn’t have the power to dodge, even if he saw it coming. Nobunaga could take his time with him.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Danchou!”

“Danchou,” Machi said more calmly than the samurai did, and looked to her leader. “I’m fine with it. Payment is payment.”

“Sounds fine. I was bored anyway.” Phinks crossed his hands behind his head to go back to sleep.

“If he bounces out of the deal, I get to hurt him.” Feitan voiced into his bandana, stuffing his hands into his pockets as if to restrain himself.

Nobunaga flustered. “Danchou! You can’t seriously be thinking about it!”

Chrollo remained quiet despite his subordinate’s outburst, thinking.

Kurapika felt something like apprehension growing in him… he was terrified and hopeful at the same time.

“Why not? He’s willing to pay, isn’t he?” Chrollo inspected him, his eyes lidded and searching. He placed his hands in his pockets and shrugged, without breaking his inspection; Kurapika was struck frozen. “It’s not a light payment.”

Nobunaga was conflicted. He struggled to express himself, shaking with anger, looking between his leader and Kurapika. “Danchou!” he protested in vain. Nobunaga returned his glare onto Kurapika. “Oi, chain bastard! You think just because you’re mafia you can come in here and make us do your dirty work? Fuck that. I won’t be doing that again,” he growled, his hand on hilt trembling.

‘Again?’ Kurapika blinked, noticing the way his hand shook with anger and maybe something else... He didn’t know what to think of that. He didn’t intend to pry upon their pasts.

Though it was true, what Nobunaga was saying. The mafia did frequent this city often for hitmen… if only because Ryuusegai citizens were ideal for completing “unsavory jobs”. With no formal identity or paper trail to follow, they were expendable lives to use in assassinations without being traced back. It led to a system of dehumanizing Ryuusegai citizens, isolating them further as they were used as mafia cannon fodder. It was an old symbiotic relationship that benefited the mafia in any grudge wars they’ve had between families, while also getting Ryuusegai citizens out of this dump with a means of living. But it was also the point of discord between the mafia and Meteor City, both parties hating the other for the deaths on both sides.

Kurapika had learned later in his time with Nostrad, that the relationship was more complicated in nature, as the practice still continued to this day. He could bet that some of Abel’s men were Ryuusegai citizens themselves, it explained why they were so quick in finding him.

Chrollo, on the other hand, seemed to bypass all the valid arguments against helping him.

“Is this child really that important to you?” he asked. His voice was so gentle and nonjudgmental, he seemed to blink blankly, patiently, waiting for his answer.

Kurapika stilled at the curiosity in his voice.

He felt the shift. Like something was _break_ ing. Of course, he wanted to scream, but this man wouldn’t get it, this man was looking at him so expectantly like he couldn’t already grasp _why-_ Of course, she was important! Couldn’t he see that it was obvious? Chrollo's killed all the people he’s ever loved, and now he was looking at him so curiously that even if Kurapika told him the thoughts that he was thinking this man couldn’t comprehend why, why it mattered, why it all mattered. This man had no empathy for anyone who wasn’t a Spider. Chrollo did not deserve to know, not if he had to ask fucking stupid questions like this, to his face. Kurapika was horrified and disgusted at the question; his eyes flashed.

Chrollo slowly smiled at the look of his face.

“Why would go so far for a baby that isn’t yours? I wonder,” he mused aloud, matching his glare with an amused look of his own. His eyes were gleaming. Kurapika stood his ground, though he knew he was at the mercy of needing their help, and he should be more respectful. Chrollo’s gaze dropped off of him just as quickly as he came of interest; the Spider leader turned away from him. Kurapika’s eyes followed his path as he smoothly passed his shoulders, making his way to the doors he came in. The Troupe rose and followed. 

…

It was over quick.

When the last fire from Franklin's fingers sounded through the air, like a bomb far away in the sky... Kurapika shuddered and the baby awoke. Her head rose from his chest and she blinked at the doors when they entered, following their paths with her eyes. It was the first time she’s seen other people. Kurapika’s eyes matched hers; but his swirled with understanding and turmoil; after realizing what they had done.

The screams fell silent. They were thorough.

The Troupe entered quietly, calmly, heading to their individual seats. The air changed at their entrance, charging him with electricity, instantly souring like fresh blood.

Kurapika froze at the metallic scent in the air. It tasted like iron, sharp and burning at his eyes. His eyes watered. Even the baby could tell, she had no understanding but even she whimpered at the smell of death that followed them.

They were triumphant as they made their way to their seats, confident like they’ve done nothing wrong. They were casual after being finished with the people outside. Kurapika was disgusted. Shalnark sat cross-legged in the corner, texting, his fingers tapping rapidly on his screen. Nobunaga glared at him coming in, muttering. Machi calmly wiped the blood off her gloved fingers with a handkerchief.

Phinks yawned and stretched widely.

“I’m so tired…” he complained as if he was a normal blue collar man just coming home from work. The comparison absolutely disgusted him, making him bite his inner cheek. Kurapika shook with anger.

His fury was palpable. “Hey, what’s up?”

Feitan chided his partner. “So soon? That was nothing.”

“Eh, it was boring.”

“You didn’t do anything. You got 6. I got 12.”

Phinks officially ignored his visible struggling emotion, instead focusing on his comrade. “Oi, Fei,” he argued, his voice low and serious. “Assists don’t count.”

“Danchou.” That was her.

Chrollo ignored his spiders to walk up to him, slowly, surely. Kurapika couldn’t back away. The smell of death was the worst around their leader, lingering like a bad omen, trailing his path like lost souls. He looked like the grim reaper, like he was coming for him next. Kurapika recoiled and the baby followed, turning away from the man. The Spider leader however, found her actions highly amusing. He came even closer, only a step apart and Kurapika could do nothing to stop it, to keep her away from someone who was clearly making her uncomfortable. He couldn’t pull her away from him, not when he was the one offering them help.

The Spider leader reached out his hand. Chrollo smiled as he played with her hair, idly curling the delicate strands around his finger, marveling at the fragility and softness. He was absolutely enamored. His girl turned away from him further, tucking and hiding her face in Kurapika’s chest, but that didn’t hurt Chrollo in the least. That only made him smile brighter. Chrollo probably found it amusing that she so took after Kurapika himself.

“Do you need a place to stay?” he asked lightly, and Kurapika was mortified.

_What?_

“It’ll be a couple of days before we can make it to the base you came from. We will take care of things there and then return. Will you be needing anything?” he offered, and Kurapika was horrified at the turn of conversation.

Holy shit.

He thought… he was trying to make it out as their benefactor, he was trying to make things comfortable for them. He was trying to _care_ for them. It terrified Kurapika deeply. The way he grew to see himself as some kind of perverse parental figure, when he swept small strands from her brow… Kurapika was utterly appalled.

“What are you doing?” Kurapika whispered harshly, demanding.

“What do you mean what am I doing?” Chrollo spoke softly, ignoring the urgency in his tone. His fingers continued to play with her baby hairs, _petting_ her.

Oh god.

“ _Get your hands off of her._ ” Kurapika pulled her away from him, and Chrollo smiled, slipping his hands into his pockets smoothly.

His voice quaked with barely restrained emotion.

He started, low and wavering. “I don’t know who you think you are… but don’t fool yourself,” Kurapika threatened. He bowed his head until blond bangs hung and covered his eyes, hiding his emotions. He clutched the girl in his arms while his body shook quietly.

Chrollo’s words were amused.

“About what?”

“You’re a murderer,” Kurapika whispered.

He almost didn’t want to say it. Not in front of her, even though he knew she wouldn’t understand. She had no clue who was the man who swept her baby hairs to the side, no clue what he meant. And what he would have done if she was born only ten years prior.

He didn’t want to forget. He didn’t want Chrollo to misunderstand his place. Even though the Spiders were helping him now, didn’t mean that Kurapika wasn’t aware of who his real enemies were. Nothing compared to the danger of the man before him.

“Don’t you dare touch her. Not with your dirty hands.”

Chrollo blinked and took a glance, perusing, inspecting, twirling his hands before himself.

“Oh, you mean metaphorically.”

“Just because you may think you’re helping… doesn’t mean anything,” he spoke quietly. Chrollo just let him talk, smiling. He started small, miniscule compared to the presence of having nen at his disposal, voiceless in relation to the power play at hand. He knew that he had no weight to his words, not with their roles currently reversed, and with him being in Chrollo’s debt. Still, his voice trembled. “You’re a murderer. You killed those people; you killed my people. This means _nothing_ ,” he pressed, eyes bright.

Chrollo was beaming.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Kurapika whispered but the Spider leader heard him.

The man hummed noncommittally.

“Why did you- why would you-” He couldn’t say it.

“You hired us out as hitmen…” Chrollo spared him the embarrassment and answered before he could fall over his question further. He started casually, so damned casually, Kurapika could _scream_. The man shrugged. “You should be careful what you ask for.”

He hated that he was right.

Kurapika should have known. He should have known that this would be the result of asking for their help. The Spiders were not capable of “help”. The only thing they were good at was killing everything in sight, and he should have fucking knew that.

He still asked. “Why?” and Chrollo inclined his head.

It wasn’t the shame driving him. It wasn’t some kind of self-defense, a forced protest to explain and protect himself. He was genuinely confused. What changed within the span of an instant, to killing all the men outside instead of stealing his eyes where he stood? It wasn’t like the man couldn’t take what he wanted, deal be damned.

Kurapika stared him down fiercely, unwavering and unmovable.

Chrollo blinked at his question.

“They were bothering you, no?” he replied simply, and Kurapika was crushed.

It was as simple as that.

That was all it took. All the man needed. He was learning more about the people who killed his clan within the hour than he had ever learned in his whole life spent dedicating his revenge. He knew that Chrollo was someone who cared only for his own, that anyone outside his Spider didn’t matter. The moment you were considered his, as part of his spider, his family… was the same moment the rest of the world was treated as collateral. Kurapika shuddered not because he feared Chrollo could do the same onto him, but because he feared the man did it for him, thinking of only the best. This was his kindness.

Chrollo didn’t understand the devastation he committed with just his words.

He continued, unaware of his fallen expression. “I can promise to get your nen back. My Spiders and I will find the one who sealed your nen. I’m assuming they don’t have a grudge against you, correct? Killing them should be no problem. Afterwards, you should have the ability to defend yourself, to which I assume we won’t be necessary. Will that be satisfactory?” he offered, watching and waiting for his response.

Kurapika breathed and shuddered. Whether with anger or fear at the ease with which he said his words, the Kurta couldn’t tell anymore.

Chrollo noticed.

“Are you scared?” he asked for the second time today. He was reading him well. Kurapika didn’t know if he was distantly curious at the emotions thrumming through his veins or if he was trying to make him feel safe. Or if he was mocking him.

“Kurapika,” he said, his voice bright. The way he said his name was warm. Kurapika looked up. He hated the sound of his name from his lips, the way it came off his tongue easily, like they were familiar. Chrollo wanted his attention when his glare latched onto him before continuing. “You have nothing to fear from me,” he said kindly.

The man was smiling at him.

Kurapika felt the anger envelop.

“I only want to help.”

He hated that he couldn’t tell if he was earnest or mocking him.

It was all just an act. One that Chrollo enjoyed playing. The man found enjoyment in roleplaying this fucked game of family, smiling at him like he was coming home from a long day at work. Either that's because that’s been something this bastard’s been secretly fantasizing about or he’s mocking it, mocking him. The idea that these people who regularly drain on society, “working” as lowly thieves and murderers, could pretend to be normal… it pissed him the fuck off. He knew the Spiders already considered each other family. That’s why they acted so familiar, they could relax, play games and joke around. But he wasn’t one of them and he would never be. Chrollo knew that. He should not pretend to be so familiar with him.

He only worried if it was an act that Chrollo was beginning to believe in.

“Is it so bad that I want to do this, after you had asked for my assistance?”

Yes, he wanted to tell him, but it would be exactly what Chrollo wanted to hear.

Kurapika glared. “You have no reason to pretend. I am well aware of the kind of man you are.”

“I’m not faking,” Chrollo said brightly, eyes alight. “I find it genuinely fascinating that the clan I killed has been brought back from the dead. A mere baby exists and it uproots everything I’ve done. You’ve surprised me; twice.”

Twice?

Kurapika blinked and struggled.

Although he hated to hear those words from out of his mouth, it was telling something about him.

Chrollo wasn’t helping him for his eyes. That was obvious from the start, his Spiders have demonstrated they could easily have taken them at any time, despite his claims at withstanding their torture, they could strip him of his eyes and his life should their leader wish it. Kurapika wasn’t fooling himself. His life was in Chrollo’s hands yet it was clear now that the Spider leader wished for something more, something else entirely. Was it to satisfy his curiosity? His interest? Whatever intrigue Chrollo had taken in him and the baby in his arms, Kurapika wanted nothing to do with. He just wanted to live though he doubted now whether by any means necessary. It was worse being the subject of his interest, whereas a year ago Chrollo wouldn’t have given him the time of day. Kurapika made the terrible realization that it was precisely the moment he offered himself as an object… that he appeared more of interest to Chrollo than anything else in the world.

That fact scared him.

He couldn’t understand him. He didn’t expect it to be so genuine. He didn’t expect Chrollo to order his Spiders to kill for him. The deaths cemented their deal in a way that giving up his eyes could never encapsulate – and now he was implicated to the point of no return. Chrollo must have known this.

 _Goddammit!_ he cursed, averting his eyes away from that smirking gleam before he could punch his face. He expected to die, deal be damned! Kurapika wanted Chrollo to just want his eyes simply, not this.

He knew he wasn’t lying about acting.

“Are the Kurta immortal?” Chrollo asked mildly. Kurapika was stumped at the absurd question, momentarily disturbed.

“What the hell would you know?” he growled low, hissing at the bit. His eyes narrowed at him, glowing red like lasers as if he could sear him with his eyes. Why the hell would he ask a question like that? Kurapika threatened darkly, “You were the one that killed all of them.”

Chrollo smirked.

“Not all.”

Kurapika struggled to contain it, to keep his ire in check but he swore his blood was rushing, the veins under his skin unable to stem the pressure.

“I’m interested in the why of it all. Why you’re here before me again. What has caused us to meet,” he mused off into the ceiling.

Kurapika spat. “Meet? If I had nen I would kill you right now.”

The rest of the Spiders visibly tensed at his threat, straightening. They were watching the two of them closely the whole time, not saying anything. But now their bodies stiffened and twitched to be on their guard, while Nobunaga snarled at him openly.

“Oi!”

Chrollo only smiled.

“Is that so?”

“I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Then I must be fortunate,” the Spider leader sung smoothly, his voice warm. He smirked at him and Kurapika nearly bust. “I would’ve died.”

Gods, he hated him.

It was clear that that wasn’t true, and they both knew it. But the man must enjoy joking with him.

“Luckily, that hasn’t come to pass. I still have the rich opportunity to talk to you like this,” his lips curled upon his face.

“What the hell do you want?”

“What else? To repent.”

The Spider leader had the audacity to shrug.

Kurapika blinked, reeled, and shook his head wildly in bafflement. What? He was utterly dumbfounded. What the fuck was this man talking about? He was still reeling, eyes wide and burning, hands shaking with the need to hit something very close.

“...Excuse me?” he asked, shaking.

“Do you believe in God, Kurapika? You don’t have to answer as I’m well aware that your people were polytheistic, and worshiped multiple gods.”

“What,” he breathed very carefully. “…does that have to do with anything?”

Chrollo blinked.

“You don’t find it fitting?” he posed.

The Spider leader continued, unprompted. “I find it interesting that the clan I tried to kill wasn’t dead. None of our other targets have come back. Yet you have, twice."

Chrollo circled nearer, closing in on him like prey.

"Why?" he asked, his stare black and penetrating. "Why is it you?"

Kurapika's heart sped. He stumbled backwards a step.

He didn't know what to say to that.

Chrollo, however, was watching his expressions very closely.

"I believe its only fate that we meet again. I find it most interesting that it’s you,” he murmured.

The man shrugged. “The boy of the clan I killed is asking for my help to save it. How could I refuse?”

Kurapika froze. He thought that now, in this moment… he understood him a bit better. He was just as much of a mad man as Abel, but worse.

Kurapika started slowly.

“No. This is far from fitting,” he began, his voice low. Kurapika shouldn’t need to say this, he had no reason to dignify Chrollo with a response, but it was driving him, the need to defend himself, if not with his chains, then with his words. “This is…” he shook his head; he exhaled sharply. Kurapika lifted his gaze. “This is the lowest point for my people and I will be forever ashamed for my actions into the afterlife. Do not humor yourself, Chrollo, into thinking that this will forgive or redeem you. You may think that you are the savior of my people. But I will not forget; I made a deal with the devil.”

Kurapika was adamant, glaring.

Chrollo lowered his head, eyes distant, two fingers lightly touching his lips in thought. “Oh. I see," he said.

He sounded… disappointed.

Kurapika was so surprised, he didn’t know what to respond. But Chrollo’s opinion wasn’t something he valued, he could do with what he said and come to his own conclusions as he will.

Chrollo looked at him.

Under his gaze, Kurapika felt unsteady on his feet, swaying. Or that may be the lack of decent sustenance he’s suffered for the past month, manifesting itself once the adrenaline had left him. The Spider leader noticed. He could see past his determined words and that he was speaking too soon before himself: that he was weak and feeble, and needed of their help but was too stubborn to admit it. Chrollo looked and saw and said nothing, leaving him to his own pride and devices.

In another universe, Kurapika would thank him. Forcing it would have been just too weird.

The Kurta felt the onset of all his built up stressors hit him at full blast, he was suddenly dizzy… and tired of standing. He forgot why he had isolated himself to the middle of the room. Kurapika’s hands were trembling carrying her, and he blinked dumbly in slow realization. His breathing was quiet but audible.

Chrollo was watching him carefully but his next words were directed at his troupe.

“We move out tomorrow.”


	9. Chapter 9

He prayed.

The words slipped from his lips in excess and he was speaking quietly, quickly, murmuring mindless syllables like he was mumbling to himself. He hadn’t noticed that he remembered his home tongue so well. The prayer left him while his mind was somewhere else and his chest was hurting. He clutched the baby tighter and tried to ignore it, tried to blink rapidly through it all. She was cognizant of the turn of his emotions and grabbed at his limp hair and cheeks, marveling at the wetness running down his face.

He knew what the Troupe was doing now. Prayer wouldn’t save him. Kurapika would get no redemption for what he’s done, or rather what he _hadn’t done_ , hadn’t stopped them, choosing instead to stay silent and compliant. Chrollo had left him here to do what he had inadvertently asked for. ‘Help them’.

He could almost laugh at the irony.

Instead, the prayers of his people (that he could never face now, they could never accept him for what he’s done, they wouldn’t be happy with him) left his throat, scratchy and tasting of blood. He swallowed thickly. His eyes were red and he was thinking of other things, like what he should do when the Spiders came back and-

A trickle of energy swirled. The thread started from his core swelling rapidly, blooming from his stomach, churning, boiling. It bubbled up from out of his core to spread quickly across his entire body, enveloping him in a cloak of aura. The rush was like air hissing out of a vent; his skin was steaming.

It was his nen.

…

His nen was back. He could feel the aura thrumming through his veins, his ears pounding with power. His wounds healed themselves even before he could activate his Holy Chain and his body took to having nen back readily, gratefully. His chains were singing.

His nen was back but the Troupe hadn’t returned yet.

This meant that Chrollo had eliminated the woman Shiro. It had happened so fast. It was only a day since they left and already his nen had been returned in full. Kurapika’s face fell at the speed with which they completed their… mission, and at the idea of what was happening back at the base. He hoped it was quick. He was left behind with only the company of his imagination as to the destruction they were committing. It was worse when he couldn’t hear it, couldn’t see it, and was left with only the pictures in his mind. He couldn’t help but to fill in with images of his clan’s massacre as he imagined what was happening, now with different yet familiar faces.

He was just there a day ago and now that base would be forever erased off the face of the earth.

Kurapika shuddered. He needed to sit. He needed to think but his head was pounding him, telling him things that he shouldn’t be thinking.

This was his chance. Rather than succumbing to giving up his eyes, he could leave right now and there would be no one to stop him. Chrollo was about a days away and with his nen back, Kurapika could escape without having to surrender his eyes. He could take the baby with him and hide somewhere, his dowsing chain could lead him to somewhere safe. Chrollo probably didn’t care about the eyes anyway, not enough to hunt him down, not after he could have hunted him for killing two of his members.

It was folly to think that he could cheat _thieves_ , but Kurapika couldn’t help the thoughts that he was thinking. He was desperate, eyes growing wild and red, a blinding, glowing red. His hair was soaked with sweat, the strands sticking all over his face. His thoughts were driving him crazy. The temptation was stabbing him, insistent and highly convincing.

He didn’t want to become blind.

He didn’t want to lose his eyes. The idea that he couldn’t see anything for the rest of his life… was made worse by the fact that now he needed to live it. He couldn’t end his life after collecting the eyes like he had planned; he had a responsibility now, a dependent. Caring for a baby will be much harder if he needed to adapt to being blind while he was at it. He would never be able to watch her grow up.

But there were other problems. His eyes were the source of most of his abilities. He projected that should he lose them, 80 – no, 85% – of his abilities would go with it. If he was lucky, he could still have his enhanced strength. But without his chain jail, permanently… He’d be left to Chrollo’s mercy. This time willingly.

Kurapika’s hands were shaking. He couldn’t see himself. His gaze flitted rapidly over the trash-covered floor, mind racing with possibilities. There was no telling Chrollo’s motive, his interest was so fleeting his mood could turn at the drop of a hat and for the worse. The man was so whimsical any moment he could choose not to have mercy. Leaving right now ensured the girl’s survival. He should leave.

Staying, waiting, sitting here uselessly… Kurapika could scream at himself that he was being _stupid_. Why wasn’t he using this chance? Half of his life he spent he was so strictly against them, training, preparing and now look at him! Now he was-

Not fighting. Not running away.

Did he actually think to honorably fulfill his promise?

What the hell did he owe the Spiders anyway when they were the ones who eradicated his clan? He was right to have told Chrollo before, this meant nothing. The Spiders did not deserve his respect, his consideration. They killed everyone he ever knew and took their eyes from their corpses.

What was honor among thieves?

Remaining, baiting, stilling himself from moving however… gratified the small quiet part of him that thought that he deserved this. For the things he had asked for he could not leave. He must bear the weight of his sins. If his eyes were the price he paid, he could only think.

How many lives was his eyes worth?

…

With his nen back, he could feel the Troupe return.

It was Feitan who was the first to walk in. Upon seeing him the spider’s eyes widened, narrowed, then glared at him sharply. The man’s face pinched in disgust.

Kurapika was confused. _What?_

Thin brows knitted and scrunched at the fact that he was still here, studying him, dare he say _frowning_ at him, and Kurapika was pissed. Why was this Spider mad at him? Feitan’s lips curled nastily, dark eyes pissed and glowering down at where he sat, nen spiked with his bloodlust.

Where Feitan was, Phinks was next. The taller Spider followed his partner into the broken doors with only the first half of the same reaction, surprise written all over his face.

“You’re still here?” he asked incredulously. Phinks blinked at where he was sitting. The man’s face was slack and open, mildly impressed. Feitan next to him clicked his tongue loudly in irritation.

Shalnark seemed to burst into the scene excitedly. He was quick to follow the first two Spiders’ footsteps, he heartily clasped his arms around the shoulders of the two, making them stumble a little forward under his embrace. Upon seeing his face, he brightened; he chirped with enthusiasm. “He asked Paku why she trusted him, didn’t he? Did you guys forget?”

If Feitan was irritated by the Spider’s show of affection, he didn’t shove him off for it. The man instead averted his gaze, cursing lightly. Phinks was quiet and thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “Oh yeah.”

Shalnark’s voice was cheerful and informative. He piped them a reminder. “He’s one of those honorable types.”

“Tch.”

Phinks nodded in understanding. “Yeah, looks like it.”

Shalnark was beaming between his friends, practically vibrating. “Too bad you guys.”

Feitan muttered bitterly. “It would have been more fun if he escaped.”

Phinks shrugged them off before continuing to his seat. He rested, hands folded behind his head, waiting for the rest of the Troupe. “At least we don’t have to do any extra work hunting him down.”

“Boring.”

Shalnark chuckled warmly. “I guess you’re not scary enough, huh Fei?”

“I wanted to fight his chains.”

“Hey, Shizuku!” Shalnark called out of the broken doors. When the bespectacled woman entered next, he asked merrily. “How ‘bout you, what do you think?”

She blinked in surprise at the question, momentarily stumbled. “Oh? Is that what we were betting about? In that case I bet that he’d escape.”

Shalnark laughed heartily. “It’s too late to change bets, Shizu! Besides, he stayed.”

That made the Spider woman pause, and turn to look at him. “Huh? That’s surprising.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Shal.” Machi warned him carefully. Her voice preceded her, and she shifted her stare from the blond cheery spider onto himself. She didn’t linger on him for long, her gaze sliding off of him like water in cool disinterest.

Shalnark conceded. “Okay, okay, I won’t push it. Alright everybody, pay up.”

Kurapika watched as Phinks and Feitan coughed up stacks of jenny, a staggering sum of 30 million total. Stolen money, surely. He watched as Shalnark split the bet between himself and Shizuku and Kurapika was shaking.

They bet… on his escape?

He had no idea how to feel about that.

Nobunaga had entered next. The samurai man was glaring at him strangely. Not that his glares were anything unusual, but this look was, as the Spider followed him with his eyes. They never broke contact with him the whole time while he returned to his perch on a crate, plopping down unceremoniously. The samurai rested an elbow on one bent knee, the other leg hanging off the crate, but the relaxed pose was artificially created, his every muscle stiff and tense. His sword was between his legs, resting on his shoulder like a gun at the ready. The spider was itching for a fight, watching him predatorily.

Kurapika tried to ignore the way he was glaring him down but it only reminded him. This man was waiting for him to give up his eyes; this man wanted to see him suffer. He may have been hoping Kurapika would escape, just so he could have a reason to hunt him down and kill him. Kurapika stripped that option away from Nobunaga, a way for the spider to get closure for his friend. Nobunaga couldn’t achieve the revenge he wanted, and now his nen was bloodthirsty, primed from the moment he walked in, thinking that he had escaped. Now the energy was left bereft, perpetually unsatisfied and upset.

Kurapika glared back just as fiercely.

_Now you know how I feel._

The rest of the Troupe made their way inside. Bonolenov was ever silent, returning to his corner before closing his eyes peacefully without comment. Kurapika remembered one of the Spiders calling out the man’s name, the one Spider that didn’t speak to him or the others. Franklin was next, upon his entrance the scarred man sighted him and hummed, quietly finding a seat.

Kalluto followed from behind Chrollo’s coattails.

The Zoldyck blinked at him from the Spider leader’s side, small and curious. At his leader’s silent motion, he nodded then glanced at him one last time before turning away.

It was just Chrollo now.

The man was looking at him so intently. Like he was trying to read every facet of his expression, every break, and observe the precise moment Kurapika was falling. He could read the way Kurapika shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, knitting his brows and frowning to himself. He could see him shiver and shudder breath. Kurapika couldn’t take it anymore and had to look away.

The man was peeling him, tearing every layer of defense with his eyes, revealing the trembling boy holding a baby underneath. The lonely boy who survived. Chrollo made his way closer until he was only paces away from him, but Kurapika couldn’t bear to look at the man, suddenly deeply ashamed.

…how could he do this… how could he go through with this? Kurapika’s eyes widened. The water flooded into his eyes, welling and spilling itself softly. He couldn’t _stop_.

The sight of Chrollo was enough to make him want to cry.

“You have your nen,” the man stated.

His power was obvious and thrumming freely, like a raging fire. Uncontrollable, it flared wildly, ebbed and surged in response to his turbulent emotions. His chains slithered and slid against one another, entangled in a pile and shifting alive like snakes. Metal links clinked against metal links softly. Chiming together like bells. His chains weren’t attacking them for once.

“You stayed.”

Those two words were undeniable. Chrollo’s voice echoed.

Kurapika was frozen, wide-eyed and scared. He didn’t want to hear what the man had to say next.

The Spider leader inclined his head. “Why?” Chrollo asked softly.

He couldn’t _breathe_.

…

“Your first goal was to collect the eyes. Your second goal is to complete your revenge. You hate us. You had no obligation to uphold your end of the deal. Why didn’t you run? I wonder,” Chrollo mused idly.

Kurapika felt like crying.

He watched as the man paced around in thought, hands stuffed into his coat pockets and eyes to the ceiling, feeling more devastated with every step, his heart crumbling. Chrollo tried to figure out the reasons behind his actions like a little boy, piecing him together like an interesting puzzle, and reading his motivations like he was a character in a story. He treated him like he was a game. The end result of getting his eyes clearly didn’t matter to Chrollo, so long as he could know everything about him, about the object he was trying to obtain-

“Why does it fucking matter?! I’m here aren’t I?” he broke.

Kurapika panted in and out, panicking. He couldn’t breathe at the sight of the Spider leader, and he was feeling cornered, trapped like an animal with no escape. Chrollo was tall, domineering, and impossible to read. His chest was gasping for oxygen while his throat swallowed in air uselessly. He was desperate, like he had done physical exercise even though he hadn’t moved from his seat.

His eyes were crazed, wild like a forest going up in flames.

Chrollo calmly met his gaze. “Still, you have a child with you now. I didn’t think you’d stay. I was so sure you’d run; I wanted to know."

“You don’t need to fucking know,” he spat.

Kurapika didn’t want to end up like his clan, an object to be used and tossed away. He didn’t want Chrollo to grow bored of him one day and throw away his eyes. In his hands he could give up his sight in vain and his sacrifice would go to waste. To surrender in this nature would take everything from him, and Chrollo didn’t understand-

Chrollo didn’t care. He didn’t even care about the eyes so much as the story behind it, the cultural history of his clan. He wanted them because he read about them in a fucking book. Kurapika couldn’t accept that, it was incorrigible to think it, that he could willingly let himself become his trash or his-

Treasure.

What if Chrollo treasured them? What if Chrollo valued him?

Kurapika didn’t know if that would be better or worse.

At his outburst, Chrollo gave him a look, expectant.

Kurapika quickly faltered.

“Besides, I don’t…” His voice hitched under that dark gaze. “I…” His words failed him.

He could say it was his survivor’s guilt… that the shame he felt in living after his clan had been massacred churned every time he looked into the mirror and watched the red creep into his vision. His guilt was made worse by the fact that he still had his own eyes. But selling them off to the man who killed his people back then… Kurapika didn’t want to give the only piece of his people he had left, his identity as Kurta in the first place, to someone who-

So shamed was he by the thoughts he was thinking, he could only hide his face under his bangs and tear from Chrollo’s gaze. His expression was far from composed. He had to bite his own lip to keep it all in. But his lips were trembling, his frown was struggling, and his hands were shaking. He didn’t want Chrollo to see.

His face was so red… redder than his eyes. He felt hot, feverish; crazy from the fever as it was the only explanation for the thoughts he was thinking. He could feel the flush rush down his body in one full shudder; powerful.

Chrollo could take away his name.

He would be nothing, a blank slate.

He wouldn’t have to be angry anymore.

He wouldn’t have to pursue his revenge.

The idea was so consuming-

Kurapika was ashamed. “I don’t know,” he trailed, hiding from the Spider leader’s gaze. “I don’t have an answer.”

Chrollo watched him silently.

“Because…” he started slowly, coming to terms with himself. It was Chrollo’s unblinking curiousness that did it. In the end, he gave this exchange more meaning than it needed, from his side of the deal. “Because I’m an idiot,” Kurapika stated seriously.

He got the satisfaction of seeing Chrollo look surprised for once.

That made him expressly pleased.

Kurapika tightened his hold of the girl to his chest, because she squealed when she saw him give a watery smile.

“I followed my convictions into the wrong place…” he trailed off with a note of poor humor. He huffed an empty laugh at himself, feeling so stupid. He still couldn’t look at Chrollo not so long as he was speaking, instead he looked at her, and tickled his fingers above her eyes so she could squeal and reach.

This godforsaken city didn’t follow a code, didn’t know what having a sense of integrity was and he could laugh at himself for his silly mistake. No wonder they were so surprised.

Kurapika narrowed his eyes at the Spider leader, his words chillingly low. “But it doesn’t change a thing. You don’t deserve shit from me.”

Chrollo huffed at first. Then he bowed his head, and initially Kurapika thought he was upset, dark hair covering his eyes. His shoulders were shaking, his body trembling.

Chrollo was _laughing_.

The man lifted his head. His eyes were bright and warm upon him, greatly amused. He smiled. “That’s true.”

Kurapika thought he could ask. “If I had escaped would you have pursued me?”

_Would you have killed me?_

Chrollo thought about it into the ceiling. “No, not really.” And the surge of hope nearly flooded him-

He was so overwhelmed, he blinked dimly, swaying in his seat. “Do you still… want them?” he dared to hope.

Chrollo’s words were unmistakable.

 

“I want them.”

...

His eyes were dark and serious. His brow was set, close and determined. Kurapika’s heart pounded rapidly. Chrollo looked like he wanted his eyes now more than ever.

Kurapika recovered too late. He stuttered in spite of himself, berating the shake in his voice. Who says shit like that? Who the fuck could respond? He tried to hide his nerves, “O-of course,” he attempted a smile half-heartedly, but his insides were in complete disarray. He struggled to keep his expression neutral. “A deals a deal.”

Chrollo was watching him hastily try to salvage himself, picking up all the frenzied pieces but he wasn’t looking down at him with pity. He was quietly thoughtful in his observation, and it was all the more unnerving to be the object of his study. Kurapika slightly shifted and bit his lip, he hid his face from his gaze, absurdly embarrassed.

There was something predatory behind his words. But he didn’t know if Chrollo was aware of it. He was like a kid pointing out what he wanted in a candy store. But there was desire, simultaneously and paradoxically adult in nature, possessive, and Kurapika feared. His words were innocent enough directed at him, but powerful and confident. It felt like they were talking about something else, somewhere else but Kurapika couldn’t place what or _why_.

But this wasn’t the appropriate time. This wasn’t what he should be thinking right now. His thoughts were harrowing him, spinning him in circles and getting him nowhere. He would do better focusing on the things he can understand and control, for now.

“-just do it and get it over with.”

…

The process itself was quick.

It was painless, even. Machi could have made for a good surgeon, if she had any interest in medicine like Leorio. Her bedside manner was curt but fair, a certain kind of respect in her touch. Patient with him but expectant and not coddling, she immediately helped him off the makeshift surgery table.

Not seeing was… new. Scary. Disorienting. His people’s powers were dependent on their Scarlet Eyes and without them he felt half the person he used to be. He felt weak; feeble. Even if Chrollo changed his mind Kurapika doubted that he would kill him now, so weak was he he’d have lost all of the man’s interest.

At least, that’s what he believed.

Weirdly enough, Kurapika felt relief. Why kill him when he had his eyes? The boy couldn’t see what he was doing now, and he didn’t have the trained hearing to parse out information from his environment yet. Everything was an unknown, and while he was still scared he was also slightly-

Accepting. This would be his new life now.

“Can you stand?” Machi spoke flatly, but not impatient. She wanted to be sure.

Kurapika nodded and she let him stand on his own.

 _Who knew Spiders could be so gentle?_ he idly thought while he tried to get his new bearings. His balance was slow and unsure, if only because there was so much trash on the floor it was hard to be certain if it was safe to walk forward. He was also curious at the bandages wrapped around his head, covering the empty craters that were his eyes. He touched the bandages carefully, curious at the worn material, wondering where they got such a clean cloth from in a city full of trash.

Machi had wrapped him, for the sake of speeding up his recovery, she said, even though her nen threads had quickly sealed his eye sockets from the minor blood-loss that occurred. For experienced killers, he didn’t feel any pain at the act, her nen threads were quick and meticulous to seal any openings from infection. For one of the spiders that was there when his clan was massacred… there was little to no blood dropped, when it came to taking the eyes from himself.

He wanted to ask them why, why did they do it, _why didn’t they spare their lives back then_ , because it was clear that they could have taken the eyes without killing, they could have had mercy. Kurapika’s heart constricted and his stomach knotted over itself in pain. He wanted to cry but he didn’t know if he could cry anymore. Why did they have to kill them? His people would have been devastated, humiliated, and blind, but they would have lived; they would have survived. They would have recovered, and he would have had his family.

His chest was hurting him so bad, it was hard for him to breathe. He trembled. He figured that now the situation with his blindness had begun to hit him. He clutched at the phantom pain, knowing the stabbing sensation was all in his head, and that now without his sight his mind was free to imagine the worst.

Kurapika tried to control his breathing, he tried not to make a scene. But without his eyes it felt like Chrollo was always watching him. He couldn’t see where the man was looking, so his surveillance felt like it was everywhere and nowhere at once. It felt like Chrollo was resting his gaze on every part of his body, lingering at some, dismissing him at others, watching him crumble.

There was nowhere for him to hide. Empty of his baby, Kurapika clutched at nothing, wrapping his arms around himself uselessly. He hated this.

“Give her back,” he demanded harshly, quickly feeling unsafe and uncomfortable.

“Okay, okay~” Shalnark cheerfully complied. The spider left to collect his child. He handed her over with what he was sure was a knowing smile on his face. If Kurapika had a choice he would never allow this particular spider to hold his child, and he distinctly remembered handing her to Kalluto. But it was Shalnark who approached him and he had no choice but to accept her from this man while he decided to pick his battles elsewhere.

He did a cursory check to see if they had done anything to her but she was the same wrapped in her blankets, warm and breathing and as safe as he could wish for. Now for the second part.

…

He was hesitant to do it but it was unavoidable.

Kurapika took a deep breath to calm himself and tried at his nen.

Nothing.

He took another deep breath, and stamped out the initial _fearpanicterror_ that immediately surged, knowing that the feeling will only make things more difficult.

Nothing.

Waiting for his chains to make themselves known, for him to hear the clinks he was so familiar with and had trained for achieved nothing. He was waiting for the dead. He scrambled for an explanation because this wasn’t what he had planned, he couldn’t be without nothing-

And then he heard it. Just one clink.

His dowsing chain dropped into existence, manifesting itself hung from his ringfinger, swaying heavily. He was so overjoyed… while also disappointed. If there was a chain that stayed he didn’t want it to be this one. Having finished collecting the eyes this chain was his most useless ability, especially since it served nothing against the Spiders.

He no longer had his chain jail anymore. Even if he wanted his revenge, he could never again seek it, not after this. The one chain that started it all would be the one with him to the end.

He would have called it fitting. The ‘fate’ Chrollo was so enamored by. But he was too sore inside to joke with himself.

Chrollo’s voice was particularly close to him, closer than he thought.

Kurapika’s heart pounded because he couldn’t place from which side-

“What will you do now?” the Spider leader asked, highly interested.

“Tell me where you are.”

“Here,” Chrollo took his chin in hand and turned his head to face him. Kurapika gasped. His touch was gentle and patient with him, unsurprised with the way he quickly backtracked out of his grasp.

Those hands so lightly held his face in the cusp of his palm, yet so close to his bare throat. Kurapika thickly swallowed at the lingering heat of his fingertips.

“What are you going to do...” He asked guardedly, knowing he was asking a dangerous question he might not want the answer to. “Will you kill me?”

“No. That would be such a waste of my time,” Chrollo said and Kurapika didn’t know if he should feel offended or elated. “Do you need an escort?” he asked him patiently.

Kurapika breathed shakily.

He didn’t know if he was going to laugh or cry.

“No,” the boy defended in spite of all that’s happened to him. He raised and showed his ring finger, though he was tempted to flick the man off. “I can still figure out my way around,” he stiffly maintained, scowling.

He could hear the smile in Chrollo’s voice. “Ah, of course. Quite useful.”

“I don’t need your help anymore.”

Chrollo was greatly amused by this.

“The border to Yorbia should be East of here, only two days away. I’m sure you can handle yourself now with your nen.” his voice was rich with amusement.

Yes, he wanted to hiss, but he knew the humor in the man’s voice would only grow, not lessen.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. I want to wish you well,” he spoke warmly, but Kurapika knew he wasn’t relaying the whole truth. He was keeping something from him. Kurapika couldn’t read his expression so he was left with no way to figure him out, making the man even more obscure.

“I won’t come here again,” he said.

“Is that a promise?”

“You won’t have to preoccupy yourself with fate anymore. This will never happen… again,” he spoke quietly.

Chrollo was silent.

Kurapika figured the man was looking at him, with the way he was so thoughtful for a moment.

“I’m guessing this is a goodbye.”

“Yes.”

“And?” The Spider leader was hopeful, waiting.

“I won’t thank you.” Kurapika was firm in his stance, unmoving and unyielding. Chrollo was made mute. Reworking his dowsing chain to read the placement of his aura even though the man wasn’t currently lying, Kurapika was able to bypass him towards the exit, brushing Chrollo lightly with his shoulder.

He made motions to leave. He was already beyond the doors when he heard it, heard the man speak warmly to him, almost proudly.

“I never expected you to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went on the assumption that his dowsing chain was his sole conjurer ability, and that all his other chains could only be accessed when his eyes turn red. Basically, I had thought his holy chain was his enhancement nen category ability, his stealth dolphin specialization, etc… user chocolatebun brought it up to me that he could use all his chains at a lower level without his eyes, his powers only enhanced to 100% in all categories once he activates Emperor Time. In which case I apologize, I set this story up based on my earlier assumption, so here he still has his dowsing chain, but has lost all his other chains thanks to giving up his eyes. Also, I apologize for making his dowsing ability now a glorified walking stick (walking chain? leash, maybe?). The fall here is great. Do forgive me.


	10. Chapter 10

Chrollo watched him leave silently. His hands were slipped into his coat and he stood in observance without moving. His eyes were trained on the double doors, unblinking and uncaring while his spiders spoke amongst themselves behind him.

“He left…” Shalnark commented quietly, his usual cheerful tone now full of mourning. His voice trailed off in dejection, enough to offer mild conversation.

Feitan tisked and Phinks hummed and nodded as if to share under the anticlimactic outcome of it all, as well as to mourn their loss of entertainment.

“Aa.” Machi agreed, then rolled up her medical supplies by herself.

She began by capping off all the bottles.

The fluid used to maintain the eyes as well as other delicate organs had only improved over the years, and they had gotten the best. She didn’t know what was the difference, only that it required temporary refrigeration, as well as thorough sanitation. She was putting away bottles of embalming fluid, washing her hands in the distilled water and hand sanitizer they could scrounge up when her leader spoke.

“How are they?” he asked her closely.

Her leader’s stare was black and encompassing. Intelligent eyes large and unblinking like depths. She felt it was particularly telling.

His questioning stare wanted to absorb all the information about the eyes, every tidbit and learn everything and more than what she could tell him. But there was nothing else to say, at least other than what she had already informed to her leader. He looked like he wanted to observe and swallow everything, as he was highly interested, and for the first time more engaged than he had ever been in their other raids. Her leader never held such interest towards a particular object, never, not since he was reading a good book. But even books he grew bored of, aside from his Bandit’s Secret and various other religious texts. She was wondering if his interest in this was timed too.

Her leader was impatient to see the eyes, now that the chain user had already left. But he restrained himself appropriately, if only according to her advice.

Machi responded professionally. “They’re holding up well, and the solution should keep them intact. But we should keep them in the fridge a little longer to be sure.”

Chrollo was patient waiting for her explanation.

“Not that he doesn’t hold strong feelings for us but he was relatively in a state of ease removing his eyes. The lack of emotion can make the color fade. There’s no precedent but my hunch is that sooner or later his eyes will turn back to brown.”

“That’s fine.”

“Then in that case I will put a timer and be sure to change the solution again later, so that it lasts longer.”

“Of course.”

Later when she was trying to work quickly putting in a fresh solution she would think it odd to see her leader never look once in her direction, always eyes off to the double doors. She shrugged as her leader’s thoughts weren’t for her to be concerned about, he would tell her if he believed she should know, and went back to her work.

...

His troupe wouldn’t leave.

Chrollo could understand the sentiment, from a distance. He could appreciate the stalwart loyalty and could see what they were all equally thinking. What if the chain user came back? Even nen less they suspected his appearance, blindness wouldn’t faze them. They were prepared and on guard for his imminent return and vengeance onto their leader. They could feel his aura wrought with hatred despite willingly giving up his eyes; they never forgot Uvo and Paku. Should the chain user return and should they underestimate him without his eyes… it would be a replay of what had happened at York New and in discovering their leader captured in chains. They never wanted to experience that again. Chrollo already tried to persuade them into leaving.

But because of the chain user’s appearance no one was willing to leave, in case their Danchou’s safety would be compromised. Chrollo had informed them that they were long free to go but none of his spiders made any motions. If this was a case of mutiny, his Spiders were sitting quietly, joking amongst one another and playing cards. Chrollo wasn’t annoyed with them, he was a little-

Tried. Tired. Amused. Slightly frustrated, because he wasn’t particularly interested in their blatant babysitting. Chrollo closed his eyes and sighed, leaning his head back on the crate behind him to think it further.

While none of his limbs doubted their head’s strength the memory was still too close to them. They never underestimated and he appreciated that. That’s how he taught them.

But he had different concerns. Now there were witnesses to things that even he hadn’t an answer for. Chrollo preferred to portray a certain image to his troupe as their leader, but there was no mask to hide under, admiring the canister in his hand, forgoing his reading. There was nothing for it. He was smitten. Despite Machi’s warnings the color hadn’t faded at all, it was as bright and breathtaking as ever, and he had never seen anything more beautiful.

...

“Danchou? Are you happy?” Shizuku asked him one day.

Chrollo hummed noncommittally, twirling the canister in his hands, enjoying the light it reflected. He watched the trapped air bubbles rush to the top through viscous preservative fluid, bubble and _pop_ , before flipping the whole canister like it was an hourglass, watching the whole process again like it was a Christmas snow globe.

Kurapika’s eyes had him easily entertained.

His gaze never left the floating organs as he responded. “Mm. Why do you ask?”

Shizuku told him. “You look happy,” she said simply.

“Do I?”

She nodded emphatically and gave a noise of agreement.

Chrollo smiled at her and the rest of his spiders brightly.

“I am.”

…

“Pretty.” Feitan commented one day, and Chrollo laughed. Phinks nodded his earnest agreement soon after, to which Chrollo only found more amusing.

“I thought you wanted to fight his chains.” Chrollo smiled upwards at the thought, and at his bloodthirsty spider’s antics. “Fei. I took that away from you. Are you upset with me?” He was delighted to himself at the idea.

As he expected, his spider shrugged. “Danchou gets to have what Danchou wants.”

“That doesn’t sound fair,” his voice dripped richly in amusement. But there was no denying the warmth, Chrollo was expressly pleased.

“I would win anyway.”

“So confident...” Chrollo’s lips absolutely _curled_. “Don’t forget, this is the guy that beat Uvogin.”

Feitan smirked. “Danchou scared?”

“Of course,” he quirked back.

He continued. “The Kurta clan are a clan of legend. Due to the change in color of their eyes, the nearby local population thought they were demons. They were a warrior clan; they trained their people in martial arts starting from a young age, before teaching them nen. Did you see how his powers are related to his eyes?” There was mirth dancing in his, the dark color gleaming like silver and bright with happiness. “Surely without having my prophecy told anything could have happened. It would’ve been a close fight. Are you sure you would win?” his lips twitched despite themselves.

There was a pause.

His whole Troupe was smiling; Shalnark gave a barked laugh.

“Damn Danchou.” Phinks grinned.

Feitan fixed his cloth to hide his smile. “How mean.”

Chrollo laughed brightly.

“What?” he asked with a knowing curve to his mouth.

Feitan shook his head fondly. “You’re so nice to him.”

Phinks perked up at the conversation like a dog. “You like the chain user, Danchou?”

The Troupe were highly interested in his reaction.

They huddled closer like a group of school girls, eager to hear his next words.

“Mm,” he nodded softly, glancing at the eyes he let rest at his feet. He didn’t know if he was agitating the solution too much, generating more air pressure than was safe for the pair. So he let the eyes rest on the floor. “He’s interesting,” he explained.

The troupe took to his words.

“I like him.” Machi stated.

“Ehh?”

“You too?” Shalnark smiled at her.

She nodded. “If you wanted him to join I would have been okay with that.”

“No fucking way, I object.”

Franklin shook his head and sighed.

“Nobu.”

“What the hell should he join for, he’s weak now isn’t he? Hah? How can that guy beat Uvo?” Nobunaga shouted, gesturing to the door where Kurapika left. He waved his arms wildly. “He’s fucking blind now, weak, and has a kid. He can’t even fight us anymore, much less anyone else. He’d be a useless dead weight for the spider.”

“Oi, Nobu!”

“It’s fine. I don’t intend for him to join,” Chrollo spoke calmly, then let his gaze fall to the side, his look unfocused into the distance. He spoke quietly. “I just find him interesting is all.”

Where the rest of his spiders shrugged in acceptance at his words, Nobunaga fumed and sputtered.

“Interesting?!”

The samurai growled, pointing to the eyes in fury.

“He’s lost his eyes now, hasn’t he?!” Chrollo froze.

He turned to look at his subordinate in slow motion, eyes wide with shock.

“Without his eyes _,_ what’s so interesting about him?!”

For the first time, Chrollo was speechless at the question.

“Hah? Danchou? _What’s so special about him anymore?”_

…

At the time, Chrollo didn’t have an answer to that. He still didn’t. The Spider leader remained in turmoil over the question, churning and repeating the words inside himself, while he faced more immediate concerns.

The scarlet color was fading. Soon it would be worth nothing.

When Chrollo informed Machi of his observations she had looked at him confused but took his concerns to heart. She changed the solution again. It didn’t matter how many times he asked, she changed the solution as many times as he demanded with no question. She said she didn’t think of her leader’s demands as pointless requests. He hoped he wasn’t tiring her or annoying her. She said she didn’t notice any change. But maybe she couldn’t see what her leader was seeing, so Machi didn’t question it, of course he must be seeing something changing after his constant observance of the thing, all day playing with the canister in his hands, turning the glass slowly to observe the eyes from all angles of light. He was their leader, he must be seeing something she couldn’t.

She had changed the solution for the eighth time today.

...

The eyes were staring at him, taunting him. They were bobbing in their fluid and watching him through the glass. He didn’t like that. Chrollo turned away from the things and tried to focus on his reading, but he couldn’t put them out of his mind, even after he draped a cloth over their penetrating, red stare.

Instead of him appreciating Kurapika’s eyes from a distance, it felt like the chain user was looking and noticing things about him that he hadn’t an answer for. That he didn’t know of himself. He felt absurdly shy, and while his feelings were interesting to recognize from a distance they were too close for comfort, and real. He felt cheated somehow, and that made him quietly embarrassed, like he was being played for a fool. He felt like he had missed something important.

Chrollo tried to work through his feelings, thinking it over and reading up on the subject, but he couldn’t get very far with them looking in the background and cruelly reminding him. He couldn’t stop thinking about the chain user. Was this a nen ability against him? He had checked if it was but found nothing on the subject. The eyes themselves could have some special nen in place, conditional upon losing them willingly, especially should Kurapika want to get one last revenge on him. Chrollo had already given the thought consideration but when he used gyou there was nothing to find, there was no hidden nen enveloping the eyes.

Chrollo closed his eyes, resting his head behind him. He opened them to look up at the dark glass ceiling.

He didn’t know what it was then. What he was missing. And when Nobunaga asked the spider leader still didn’t have an answer. When Machi was curious at the way he turned from the things, she said nothing, but he knew she was watching him closely and worrying about him. But Chrollo wouldn’t have an answer to give her, should she ever question her leader. He was grateful then, that she didn’t speak so that Chrollo could forcibly place his thoughts elsewhere.

He learned quickly that that wasn’t working.

…

His thoughts swirled in circles and he couldn’t resist; he was still thinking about the chain user.

He wondered where he was, whether he had made it successfully to the following civilization, if he encountered any trouble. He wondered how he was adapting to his handicap and how he fared crossing the desert. Chrollo speculated that Kurapika’s dowsing chain worked based off of established knowledge, a map or confident memory of a place, and that despite reading auras using his dowsing ability the chain user could still end up lost in the desert. Their exchange would have been for naught and what he had done would go to waste.

Chrollo could understand the weight of the sacrifice Kurapika committed, he knew intellectually it was significant but he still thought it was pointless. They had killed all the Kurta. Kurapika was intelligent, the hunter was not fooling himself into thinking otherwise. Chrollo wondered then what was so special about that baby, the special Kurta girl that Kurapika so willingly gave his eyes for. He wondered why he would do that, for a baby that wasn’t his, and for a child that was questionably Kurta in the first place. The chain user’s objectives were only in relation to his late clan – why did he do it?

Was a child worth more than the last genuine Scarlet Eyes? Chrollo glanced and thought that if he looked at the color long enough he would know the answer.

…

At nights, Chrollo dreamed in red. Like a haze tinging his sight, he was submerged in rusty waters. Bubbles of air left him but he enjoyed their trail, he watched as they lazily floated to the surface. He was sinking slowly but it didn’t worry him, the consistency of the pool he was in was thick like syrup and familiar-

Chrollo woke up.

He and his spiders went about their day. Raiding. Loitering. Playing cards. When he sought to review his dreams later, he set his book aside.

Chrollo thought back on his dream. Something was different. He wondered how the memory of that scarlet color, the brilliance of that fiery red was so striking and powerful. He thought, how could his dream glow brighter… than what was in the glass container resting at his window?

…

He realized it suddenly on a Tuesday. The color wasn’t fading. It was all in his head.

Once he realized that fact he was a little more understanding of himself. Chrollo had already regretted the eyes. They were the source of his obsession and his bane. He was growing frustrated and quickly tired of them already.

But he knew in his memory that they meant so much. What happened? What had changed? Some part of him itched to bash the things to the ground all of a sudden in a temper tantrum. Some days he wanted to roll the eyeballs in his palm to play with the fragile things, and revel in the knowledge that at any moment he could crush the delicate organs in his fist. He didn’t want to give in to these turbulent feelings, but no object made him want to do this before. He never experienced the feeling so he didn’t know what to name it, and where to place his energies.

The only thing that stayed his hand was the knowledge that Kurapika offered his own body first before he asked the Troupe to endanger their lives. Not that Chrollo believed it was likely they would lose, his Spider was made to be the strongest and he believed nothing could touch them. But the sentiment was not lost on him. The chain user must’ve hated begging for their help, must’ve deplored the thought of using them. But Chrollo didn’t place the same value over his own person that Kurapika did, surprisingly. He didn’t mind at all, that’s why he did it.

And yet, the chain user hated them; Kurapika wanted to kill him.

_Then why?..._

Chrollo couldn’t understand his reasons. He had asked him but Kurapika refused to respond to his questions. Chrollo knitted his brows in confusion as he frowned slightly to the ceiling, before reluctantly letting his gaze fall again to the source of his frustration.

By definition, the Scarlet Eyes could not be given. It was an impossible offer, a paradox. To bottle the eyes implicitly demanded violence because if they were freely given, they could not be red. In that sense, Chrollo was special, he had one of the most rarest things in the world.

He knew intellectually that Kurapika’s act had meaning… that Kurapika giving him his eyes held value. Chrollo had in his possession a pair of eyes that were estimated worth at a starting price of 6 billion jenny, easily one of the most expensive things he has added to his collection. He expected them to grow in worth as soon as he advertised the pair into the market. There was next to no effort expended in obtaining it, and the eyes themselves were unmarred by stress or blood damage. He should be expressly satisfied.

(He wasn’t.)

...

Nobunaga didn’t give up his revenge as much as he would like, but he mellowed out and quieted himself, enough to occupy his vengeance temporarily. To some degree. If there was a priority he could read in his spider’s mind it would be to remain here and protect him from any further ‘surprises’, rather than to pursue the chain user. Chrollo was slightly glad of the fact, a way to keep his spiders from going off to kill Kurapika themselves. Even if he had ordered them not to pursue the chain user, he wouldn’t be sure if they wouldn’t disobey his orders and betray his spider again. In their eyes, Kurapika was a threat to their head’s life and needed to be eliminated; they still valued their leader’s life over his orders. Chrollo sighed. Troublesome. But while he was still here they were able to stay their hands, some albeit begrudgingly. Chrollo knew Nobunaga was still bitter about the exchange going down. The Spider leader would have to think of something for him later.

But now, this.

“Oi, let me kill him!”

Chrollo sighed.

“No. What would be the point of protecting him this whole time if I was to kill him? The chain user is harmless, it’s a waste of our time.” He maintained his focus on his reading.

Nobunaga was growing irate from his unmoving response. He could see the other fume and turn purple at the way he blinked blankly towards his book. Chrollo didn’t mind. He turned a page, still ignoring him.

When he reached for the next page, this time quickly wetting his finger against the tip of his tongue, Nobunaga threw his hands up in frustration. “Danchou!”

“Yes?”

Nobunaga flustered. “You can’t be serious!”

“About what?”

“He’s the chain user!” And here, his spider faltered, his face knotted with confusion. Nobunaga’s loud en presence turned dejected and flickered with hesitation. His ponytail even fell a little. Chrollo watched on curiously. “You really want to let him go?” He looked miserable.

Chrollo slowly smiled at his spider.

“Nobu. Anything I could do to him now couldn’t be worse. Even if I wanted to torture him, he’s already tortured himself. My actions would only confirm his assumptions about us. I don’t intend on giving him the satisfaction of being able to see us as the enemy. He gave me his eyes willingly, that act will hurt him more. His blindness will only be the reminder, the humiliation will follow him for the rest of his days.”

Chrollo placed two fingers to his lips, gaze flitting along the trash-covered floor, musing on it further.

He nodded, more to himself. “Though in some sense, you’re right. I imagine he feels giving up his eyes as his due. We remind him of his clan, and he may think it’s only fair that he experiences what his clan has undergone. He may have secretly wanted this. We would only gratify his own self-flagellation and punishment,” he trailed off in his musing.

Nobunaga frowned trying to understand what he was saying.

“Okay… then?”

Chrollo blinked. “Hm? What?”

“Then are you saying that that’s okay?”

“Hm, I’m not bothered by it. He is the last member of his kind. I imagine he needs some method to cope. If it makes it easier to see us as the enemy and if he finds absolution in giving up his eyes to me… then who am I to refuse? I will graciously accept them.” Chrollo smiled.

Nobunaga turned his cheek at his earnest gaze and muttered. “Che. Don’t say shit like that. If he’s upset at selling his eyes then he shouldn’t have offered in the first place.”

Chrollo’s voice was warm. “Of course.”

Nobunaga grumbled. “Fei’s right. You’re soft on him.”

“Am I? If I let you kill him right now he would welcome it. He might even thank us. Are you sure you would want to do it?”

Nobunaga made a disgusted face and Chrollo laughed.

His laughter fell a little, hitched and he gave a soft, longing sigh.

“I was cruel because I didn’t want it to hurt, I didn’t want him to feel pain…” Chrollo said softly. There was an insistent fond curl to his lips. His gaze softened as if he was looking back on the memory, reminiscing about it like it was just the other day even though Kurapika had been gone for weeks. “I wanted him to remember me. Is that selfish?”

Chrollo looked at his spider then, his dark eyes gleamed joyously.

Nobunaga only rolled his eyes and scoffed, used to his leader’s brimming excitement but that didn’t affect Chrollo in the least.

“What do I care?”

Chrollo was deeply amused.

“Nobu. I know you’re still upset.”

His spider could hear the mirth in his voice.

Nobunaga looked stubbornly away from his gaze.

“Are you mad at me?”

When his spider said nothing, Chrollo gazed at him warmly.

“It’s fine. I won’t be hurt.”

“Aa, I’m still pissed,” Nobunaga muttered as his en ebbed and dribbled, before finally sputtering out of existence. He was recalcitrant but he was calm, and his nen was subdued. Chrollo was accepting of the effort, and patient with him until Nobunaga controlled his bloodlust. The spider leader hummed in approval.

“If it makes you feel any better, know that I refused him closure. The chain user has no one to blame but himself. I’m not his companion but neither can I be the person he expected me to be, because I refrained from violently taking his eyes. That fact is contradictory but undeniable, and stoutly confuses him. Now he doesn’t know what to feel. From now on he can only imagine half of his clan’s suffering, because I let him live.”

Chrollo was looking forward as he said this, before pausing. He blinked. He turned to his spider and realized.

“But most importantly, know this. He cannot deny what we’ve done. He has inadvertently sacrificed two conditions. He has given us his eyes and one more… because I know he could never take revenge on us again. He’ll hesitate.”

…

“What are you going to do, Danchou?” Shalnark asked as cheerful as ever and Chrollo was infected by his energy.

The man smiled.

“I have no use for these eyes, personally.”

He twirled the container in his hands, watching the liquid inside it swirl.

Shalnark hummed in mild interest.

Chrollo knew however that he and the rest of his Troupe were waiting beside themselves to hear what he had to say next.

“A couple of buyers have already responded to my offer, though some want to confirm its authenticity.”

“Must be nice…” Shalnark smiled with joy for his leader, genuinely happy for him.

Chrollo shared his look with a warm glance. “The price has marked up substantially within the past six hours.”

“Oooh.” Shizuku praised.

“Che.” Nobunaga huffed.

Feitan perked up at that. “Eh? How much?”

“Hm… 14 billion? Right now it’s probably worth more than that.”

Phinks whistled loudly and Machi nodded.

“Congratulations, Danchou!” Shalnark beamed at him.

Chrollo’s dark eyes sparkled.

“Thank you, Shal,” he said fondly.

Phinks grew excited.

“Yo, who’s in the lead?”

Chrollo had to think about it.

“I believe a prince of Kakin royalty… He says that he used to have ten in his collection before someone managed to steal them. He’s still interested in the eyes nonetheless, probably more so now. He’ll be coming in in a few days to review the eyes himself. Of course, I’ve told him to wait so as to give the other buyers more time.”

Franklin raised one brow. The scarred spider rumbled thoughtfully. “But? You’re thinking something.”

“Mm. I’m sure this guy will outcompete the auction. This is just a formality,” Chrollo commented offhandedly, flicking his wrist to wave the matter off for another time. But his spiders were very perceptive, they knew him best.

“You have a plan.” Machi always had her hunch.

“Tell us!” Nobu and Phinks itched to hear. Feitan was practically glowing with excitement, they must think he was ordering another raid already.

“You’re leaving.” Kalluto said suddenly.

Chrollo closed his eyes.

Where the rest of his spiders broke and protested, Chrollo opened them and smiled at his youngest member.

He hummed, interested and deeply pleased. “How did you know?”

“My brother left too. For someone,” Kalluto said knowingly, blinking curious and open at him, waiting. Chrollo was proud.

“Is that so?” he was amused at the comparison.

Nobunaga surprisingly caught on. The spider leader had a thought that he must have been quite transparent as of late. He’ll have to remedy his behavior later. “You’re going to go back to the chain user?!”

He let his spiders object and vent, waiting patiently through their grievances.  

When their voices died down by only a margin, because they were being quite stubborn today, he was finally able to speak.

“You know he won’t kill me.”

They were chagrined and subdued now, still upset but thinking. Chrollo let them and hummed peacefully while he waited.

Franklin frowned and visibly came to a conclusion.

“We can’t change your mind, can we.” It was not a question.

“No.”

Machi sighed but nodded.

“Whatever you want, Danchou.” Her shoulders slumped a little and she turned her gaze before he could see her expression. Phinks scratched the back of his head, embarrassed.

“Aa. Whatever man.”

The rest of his spiders came to and gave him their support.

Not that Chrollo was looking for their approval because his actions were not up for discussion, but it was nice to see them change their mind. He found it amusing.

All of them gave him the go ahead that he wasn’t particularly looking for, except one.

He watched Nobunaga struggle and turn multiple colors curiously.

“Nobu. Will you stop me?”

His spider gave up in a dramatic outburst. He threw his hands up wildly. Nobunaga grumbled, cursing his position. “I don’t get what you see in him anymore Danchou he-”

“He what?”

_‘He’s lost his eyes now hasn’t he?’_

Chrollo closed his softly in the memory.

_‘What’s so special about him?’_

Nobunaga’s question was right. It was true. Kurapika’s lost his sight, the beauty of his extraordinary Scarlet Eyes, his abilities and the fiery revenge that made him who he is. And yet.

At the time, the spider leader didn’t have an answer. Now he had an _inkling_. The thought was driving him to completion, warming his skin with light, and Chrollo was satisfied to have finally come to a conclusion about himself. He was bright. His spiders could see him soften with relief and joy, and watched as he slowly smiled in realization.

_Nothing._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [bonbonpich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonbonpich/pseuds/bonbonpich) for beta reading this chapter~ I haven't read the manga so I had no clue how to write Tserriednich's character, and it was a save to get his part betaed. Do enjoy~

His first step into Ryuusegai was… disappointing. The place was a putrid dump, made worse by the festering heat and his bodyguards’ whispering fears amongst themselves over him being here. It was the home territory of the Spiders. What he could see across the horizon was a conglomeration of leftovers, trash that drifted and cobbled together for miles before washing up here, haphazardly stacked against one another. The city of trash was a crippled imitation of civilization, made up of material invented within the most recent era of human technological advancement, and a sign of incompetent management of resources and the degradation of the earth’s environment. It was a picture of the ruin of human society. ‘Shooting Star’, indeed. Tserriednich saw and followed his eyes up the dump stacks, only to return back down to the littered earth. Its own waste and decay was its infrastructure; its people invisible, fallen. He thought it was mildly interesting.

Any other day, Tserriednich would be curious at how it all came about.

Now he wanted to get going. Ryuusegai wasn’t a place he would normally find himself in, as he wasn’t interested in the goings of poor people, but he could humble himself every now and then. He glanced curiously at the garbage-filled environment and found it to be the perfect apocalyptic aesthetic, like the set of one of those popular zombie movies. When Tserriednich looked up at the tall broken spires before him, he blinked, slightly impressed. For a dump it had its charm, its trashy beauty. The hot air whipped up sand before him like dust clouds, the sands of time and decay. There was no real culture or history to the place unlike the ruins of Rome, but Tserriednich could appreciate the urban culture of it all, the gritty aesthetic of these makeshift skyscrapers, as this ghetto slum tried to catch up with the rest of the first world.

It was artistic, in its own poor way.

Tserriednich walked in with that thought, ignoring the immediate scatter of rats flurrying from his and his bodyguards’ presence. He ignored the smell of trash and feces that assaulted him, there was a hot draft through the hallway of this dying cathedral. He tried to ignore the way the floor he walked on was littered with the unknown, sticking to his designer shoes and squishing under the weight of his path. Tserriednich felt disgusted and disappointed at the lack of regard for one of the few buildings of cultural value in this place. If this Chrollo Lucifer was a man of respect worth his time, he should know the value of truly sophisticated things. Even a ruined church of God had worth in this godforsaken place. Tserriednich wasn’t impressed with being called to come here in person, these people were beneath him, this place wasn’t worth his time. The only thing of value here was the Scarlet Eyes, worth more than this entire wasteland and the lives of the people in it, not that anyone would buy such a useless space. Only they held import, should they be real, they would be worth all the trouble he went through to get here. But he doubted that these vagrants could be so honest.

The bodyguard to his right reacted at the scurry of another small animal, then lowered his weapon immediately after the threat had passed. Tserriednich sighed.

“Just another rat, Leo. Nothing to fight here.”

“Please, your Highness.”

He knew his bodyguards were trying to change his mind. The Phantom Troupe were internationally known criminals and they were assigned to protect his safety. They couldn’t do their job here, they were useless against Spiders when they hadn’t learned any nen, not to mention they hadn’t trained for such an… environment. Should they go against regular ‘citizens’ from here, they would lose, if only because these rats were adaptable, wild and knew the layout more. They were desperate poor people and his guards were worried that he would be attacked for being someone his status. Tserriednich rolled his eyes. He was sure his nen beast alone would be enough but far be it from him to stop his own bodyguards from doing their job. He shrugged and moved on.

When he entered the double doors he found the infamous Phantom Troupe all together, sitting in various places around whom he assumed to be their leader, the one in the middle smiling at him. His prediction was right, and these thieves seemed to fit right in with the background, their characters matched well with the décor.

Wonderful.

With a welcoming smile from the leader, and mild disinterest from the rest of these Spiders whom he hadn’t bothered to learn their names, Tserriednich made himself at home. His guards followed. Instead of greeting and introducing himself to their leader, he wanted to see the room they all lived in. Tserriednich had been looking forward to seeing how these people lived. He indulged his curiosity at the layout, and none of the spiders addressed or stopped him from his inspection.

He enjoyed what he found. He followed the growing rotting piles of trash mixed in with their necessities and wondered how people could even survive in this filth, it was completely unhygienic. He couldn’t imagine it looking at it, but he figured they’ve adapted to this environment well over time through natural selection. They were quite strong as thieves.

He was so busy indulging himself with his observations, more curious in this question than what he came here for when the Troupe leader spoke.

“Your highness,” he said. His voice was trained, smooth, but like a monkey trying to be human it was only that, an imitation. Tserriednich brightened with joy at the thought. “Should I call you your highness, Prince?”

Their leader was quite charming, pretending as a host of upper society, welcoming him with a smile. Tserriednich found it amusing. “Tserriednich is fine, thank you.”

“Weird-ass name,” the dressed samurai in the back muttered and the Kakin prince stared at him.

“Please excuse my subordinate. Ryuusegai is not known for many upscale visitors like yourself; there’s no rules on propriety here.”

He hummed disinterestedly.

Their leader insisted. “You’re quite welcome here.”

“I like this place,” Tserriednich said, walking around the arrangement of the crates. If he didn’t know any better they blocked all possible entry points, as well as opened up the natural light filtering through the glass windows. Of course, there was no electricity here. The sunlight hit the trash and dust of the place, giving off a halo in the dirt. The effect captured the beauty of the ruined church in a way he found mildly pleasing, and it made him hum. He found it quite endearing of the troupe leader.

“Thank you.” Chrollo gave a small bow to him. So polite.

He enjoyed polite people quite a lot.

“You already know why I’m here today.”

“Of course.”

“Let me see them.”

He watched as their leader finally removed a black cloth covering a canister. He wondered if the man was trying to make a dramatic entrance of it all, by covering it in the first place.

Standing on a crate before him was the Scarlet Eyes. Tserriednich, against the advice of his guards, drew closer. His guards had no clue what to do with themselves as they silently followed his approach.

He was captivated by the color, a color he thought he would never see again. These eyes floated freely in their fluids, almost weightless, not weighed down and heavy by the stands of time. Tserriednich was intrigued, he took a step closer only to have the Troupe leader hold out a hand to stop him.

“I’m sure you’re very interested in these eyes… but a close acquaintance gave them to me. You understand, don’t you?” Gray eyes looked up at him, amused.

Acquaintance?

Tserriednich hummed in consideration. “You mean to tell me these weren’t stolen?”

“No.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I was told you were thieves. Uncommon ones. You know about nen. I was advised greatly against coming here but my curiosity was intrigued…”

The man, Lucifer, bowed again, dark hair covering his gaze. Tserriednich thought he was laughing.

The man chuckled, his voice rich and full of warmth. “I’m happy to hear you trust our sincerity.”

“Don’t be daft. I’ve looked everywhere but someone stole the ones in my collection. I was absolutely devastated. You won’t happen to know where they could be, do you?” Tserriednich casually looked up to the rotting ceiling, letting his gaze wander and search lazily.

Chrollo Lucifer smiled.

“Us, the infamous thieves?”

The prince decided to walk around the room, checking the dying cathedral like he owned the place. He mused aloud, observing, making conversation. “You’re not trying to regain control of the supply are you? Only to charge each pair a ridiculous sum now are you?” He called from behind a stack of books, curious at the discovery of a small personal library.

He touched the tomes to review them, turn them over in his hands, he touched everything that was of interest in his sight like he was entitled to.

Chrollo Lucifer didn’t mind.

The Spider leader’s voice was warm. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Tserriednich hummed loudly. “I don’t appreciate liars,” he commented. He went back to his inspecting. He only looked back to the Troupe leader after reading some of the titles of the books he kept: bibles, classics, epics. Well-versed in other languages and cultures. Looks like the monkey was educated. Maybe that was the reason he was being so charitable today. “How do I know to trust you?”

Their leader smirked.

“They’re here, aren’t they?”

Tserriednich hummed, unimpressed. “That’s no good. You won’t let me get a closer look. For all I know these eyes could be fake.”

“True.” Chrollo nodded in easy concession. The spider leader thought about it. “How about I give you information instead. I can tell you where the others went.”

He was intrigued, drawn, interested. Tserriednich raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So you do know.”

“Mm. There’s a survivor.”

…

Those three words Chrollo spoke were simple, frank, and unblinking but the proud, almost reverent quality in his voice betrayed him. The Spider leader seemed to close his eyes in thought. But Tserriednich wasn’t paying attention to that.

Tserriednich placed the book he was holding down carefully. He blinked. He turned to look at him. Chrollo Lucifer smiled at his reaction.

“There’s a survivor,” he repeated and watched as the prince came forward. The Spider leader looked up at the approaching prince with an open face. “Do you believe me?”

Chrollo continued. “He attacked my spider once. His other goal, of course, is to collect his people’s eyes.”

The Spider leader closed his and his lips slowly curled at the imagery. “I assume he’s succeeded?” he raised an amused eyebrow.

But it was clear to him that the thief was joyous.

“A survivor…” Tserriednich paced in thought while Chrollo and his troupe followed his path with their eyes.

They were watching him, waiting for his reaction. They were expecting him to flip. But Tserriednich had no intention to feel offended. When the full weight of the realization crept him, the spider leader noticed his pause.

“You don’t look upset,” Chrollo said knowingly. The thief smirked at his predicament.

Tserriednich didn’t mind the arrogance currently. No, he had more important things to think about, more pressing information. His face came alive with something lighter than he had felt in coming here, to this decrepit city. He thought that maybe it was worth it.

“No. I’ve never been happier in my life…” he said quietly, reeling, blinking and thinking. His guards were beside themselves when he got tired of walking and took a seat before the Troupe leader. He crossed his legs, resting one foot on his knee, folding his hands into his lap. The man had his full, undivided attention.

“Would you tell me more?”

…

“So when you mean an acquaintance gave them to you…”

Chrollo slowly smiled.

The dark humor in his eyes was no secret. “They were not a gift passed down, yes.”

Tserriednich blinked. “Huh.”

Lucifer quirked an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“You out of all people are the least I’d expect to receive gifts. Maybe charity?” the Kakin prince frowned.

Chrollo was amused by the concept. “Very few missionaries make their way here.”

“That’s unfortunate. Still doesn’t tell me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the answers for you, much less for myself,” he said.

The small smile the Troupe leader made was the only genuine thing he shared all day. Tserriednich liked it. He found it quite becoming of him. So honest… he would have itched to make a rendition of it quickly, to quickly carve it out and preserve it in the moment, put it on display. But currently on display there was something else. Maybe some other time. If he did it again, this spider might be worth coming back for.

He let his gaze fall onto the Scarlet Eyes pointedly. Chrollo closed his and conceded, indicating with a bow of his head.

One spider, the pink one, moved to make preparations.

…

“You won’t ask me why I’m selling them?”

The thief was cheeky and it disappointed him deeply. The only thing that stayed his hand was that he had his moments of interest, this Chrollo Lucifer, he had moments of humility. He could see why this Spider was able to traverse in and out of this place, besides his affinity for nen; he was a cut above the rest with potential.

But at times he could be lower than the trash underneath his feet.

Tserriednich guessed that even some flowers grow in influence from their environment, for better or for worse. They can’t help it if they don’t have all their needs to flourish. This city was forgotten, untamed wild weeds. Draining on others. Breeding their trash endlessly; never culling.

Such a sad, disfiguring flaw, it was such a shame.

“I won’t ask why but you look like you want to tell me.”

The Spider nodded. “I feel like you should know, it would be disingenuous of me not to inform you.” Chrollo sighed and looked to the ceiling. His attention fell again to the packaged suitcase. In it were the Scarlet Eyes, pillowed in between layers of satin and silk cushioning, and Tserriednich wondered what he was thinking.

Why sell the eyes and look so wistful? The Kakin prince waited with patience.

“These eyes were given to me willingly, by that same survivor I told you about. It was a 2-minute operation without the use of anesthetic. One of my subordinates’ nen abilities allows her to perform surgery almost instantly, and near painlessly. I should inform you that because of these circumstances… these eyes may not retain their Scarlet hue.” The Spider leader looked relaxed.

Tserriednich frowned. “What do you mean?”

“This is the one pair I never took forcibly. Apparently if they’re given, they can turn back to their original color.” Chrollo Lucifer shrugged.

Tserriednich froze.

The Spider leader read him incorrectly. He glanced at him. “Will that be a problem?”

“If you had told me…” he started, then trailed off.

Chrollo was interested in his reaction. “You would not buy them?”

Buy them?

The prince sighed and closed his eyes, trying to keep the itch in.

_I would have offered the world._

…

The chain user was surprisingly hard to find. Chrollo was proud of that. He had figured the kid learned something and decided not to put his trust into him; Chrollo found out that he had settled exactly one city over, east from the one he had suggested.

It took more than three hours to find him.

There was little evidence leftover as to where he was staying, which deftly frustrated and drove Chrollo. The Spider was impressed. Kurapika was stalwart in erasing his tracks, possibly thanks to his experience in the mafia, to which Chrollo could admire his work. He was diligent. Overly paranoid. Chrollo took it as an unspoken challenge to find him. But there was a big difference in experience between the two, a long-time thief and a blind boy. Chrollo had nen. Kurapika lost the ability to use his effectively.

The chain user couldn’t notice his presence when he broke into his apartment, not so long as he was still dependent on his eyes for identifying enemies. Three weeks wasn’t long enough to adapt to being blind. Chrollo was able to slip through the front door without triggering his en and without making noise. The chain user was taking a shower and the water drowned out his entrance.

Chrollo blinked.

He had suggested Yorbia but he didn’t think Kurapika to actually take in his suggestion and live here. To… settle. But it looked like that was exactly what the chain user did. It looked like he garnered a decent sized apartment on short notice, with enough little furniture and supplies for a young man and baby. Sparse, Spartan, but livable. Almost… like a family. Chrollo was curious.

He took to snooping around.

Like a cat, he made himself at home. He indulged his interest in what the chain user was up to, because he had been thinking about him this whole time in coming here and back in Ryuusegai. He wanted to know. Turns out the chain user was able to get access to his hunter’s license and a steady means of income at a short notice. Chrollo flipped through the papers on his table. Interesting.

He had ignored the play cage structured in the center of the living room but what was inside it didn’t ignore him. The baby Kurapika protected noticed his entrance. She exclaimed in delight and struggled to stand clutching the bars of her cage, wobbling, falling. Chrollo blankly watched her struggle.

“Six to nine months, huh…” he guessed when she fell down again. He followed as she tried a third time, only to crumple and fall. He came closer this time, squatting to her level outside of the play cage. Chrollo waited, unblinking.

“What will you do now?” he asked as she tried to roll over. She couldn’t. She struggled to reorient herself, her muscles were weak and underdeveloped and she didn’t have the strength to make herself right again. She rocked back and forth trying to generate the momentum only to tire herself out on her back. Chrollo blinked.

He had no experience with kids.

He decided to give her an incentive.

“Did you want this?” he asked, keeping the toy he stole only a little out of reach and watched as the baby stretched and tried and groped, trying to get the object back. He shook the thing and it jingled but just as she finally rolled onto her left, he switched hands.

He passed the toy back and forth.

“What’s so special about you?” he questioned keeping the thing endlessly out of her reach. She kept trying to reach for it. She would strive to roll her weight onto one side only to have to repeat the struggle all over again onto the other. Chrollo watched on curiously.

“Hm. I wonder why…” he commented when he saw her eyes. Understandably she grew frustrated. Her Scarlet Eyes activated only to sputter and dissipate as soon as it come. They were dimmer, weaker, not as vibrant. Chrollo wanted to see them again, get a closer look.

“More of a ruddy brown…” he trailed off too absorbed in his inspection.

“What the hell are you doing.” He heard from behind him.

…

Chrollo blinked.

He placed the toy down carefully. He tried to stand. But Kurapika’s dowsing chain was already wrapped around him, bringing back memories. The thing didn’t place him into a zetsu state but it was the intent that counts. The ball chain dug into his skin, constricting.

He smiled.

“You can use your chain as an offensive ability. Interesting.”

“No. You need to answer my question. What the hell are you doing here.” Kurapika growled at him, not letting him turn around. Chrollo found it all amusing. The chain user knew of the difference in their abilities, that if he really wanted to he could have killed them a long time ago; he could have cut her throat the moment he walked in. And yet he still felt the need to physically threaten him.

“Visiting,” Chrollo said fondly.

The chain around his chest and arms cinched, the dowsing ball digging uncomfortably under his ribcage.

Chrollo coughed.

“I’m not interested in your jokes, _Chrollo_.” Kurapika let his chain speak for him, the cold metal shifting like snakes and getting tighter. The spider leader was very interested in how he used his nen ability in new ways.

“I’m surprised you noticed me. Is your hearing already so sensitive?”

“That is none of your business.” Kurapika growled.

Chrollo was about to respond when he was abruptly yanked to a stand. He blinked and quickly recovered. He let himself be dragged away from the play cage, let Kurapika pull at him harshly like a dog on a leash.

The thought humored him so much he played along.

“I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Then what the hell were you doing.”

“Her eyes are different from yours.”

Kurapika visibly shuddered at his words, stopping. Chrollo noticed. He stopped behind him, took the sight of the chain user in full.

It seemed that he had interrupted him in the middle of his shower because the chain user wasn’t fully dressed. A towel rested on his shoulders; the chain user wore black boxers. His skin was still warm and pink and damp from the steam, giving off heat. He looked soft to the touch; Kurapika smelled like baby shampoo. Chrollo could see hints of his cross bandage, the white cloth peeking in between blond strands.

The chain user still had his bandages over his eyes, the ends fraying. He probably kept it on to keep from public notice. It would be worse walking around with empty eye sockets. Chrollo was sure babies needed to see some semblance of normal facial features; they needed to recognize and read and copy their mother’s expressions, like laughter or smiling, for their development. Eyes including. He probably wore the bandage so as not to traumatize the child, who would fear not recognizing him.

“Yours are brighter.”

The finger connected to his chain twitched.

“…did you come here to rub it in?” He breathed shakily. “Did you come here to compliment me on my damn eyes?”

“I sold them.”

That got him a reaction.

Chrollo figured that it must have been the habit, to turn and face him even though he couldn’t see a thing. He found it amusing, as if Kurapika was trying to read anything he could about him, even without his sight. As if facing him alone would speak to him through all his other senses, what he wanted to know about him and why.

Chrollo waited, let him take his fill.

Kurapika was silent, thinking of his response.

“Not that I expected anything less,” he sighed wearily, and Chrollo brightened.

“They were worth quite a lot, if that makes you feel better.”

Kurapika was deadpan. “Congratulations,” he said unimpressed. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“To see you.”

Kurapika was unflappable.

“How did you find me.”

He threatened him with a tug of his chain. The Spider leader played along and allowed Kurapika to drag him away from the infant. He didn’t mind moving if it made the man more comfortable.

Chrollo was so happy.

“In the act of trying to protect that girl you project your en every hour or so.”

Kurapika swore.

Chrollo thought that if he had eyes they would flash.

“There’s no way you timed it-”

“I guessed,” Chrollo grinned, shrugging. He knew the boy couldn’t see his expression but he could hear it, the rich humor in his voice. He let himself be led and forcibly ~~shoved~~ seated onto the couch. He closed his eyes to contain himself but he couldn’t hold back his joy; Chrollo conceded with a small smile. “True, it’s not large enough to be noticed but your rage distinguishes you.”

There was a pause.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

Kurapika was irritated.

“The chances of you being within range of seeing my en without _me_ discovering you is-”

“Is fate?”

“Please stop.”

“You were quite difficult to find-”

“And you were deliberately looking for me so do not start that shit again.” Kurapika was adamant, pointing a finger into his chest painfully. It was minute, but his hand was shaking.

Chrollo felt light.

“I was able to see the range from a certain distance,” he started, grey eyes flitting rapidly across the chain user’s face, taking his fill. He followed untrimmed blond hair, struggling lips that itched to speak, and wrapped white bandages. His focus was entirely on Kurapika, highly invested and unblinking. He was captivated. He enjoyed looking at him to his desire while Kurapika couldn’t see him in turn. “Your nen was familiar. I’ve had your judgement chain placed on my heart for a year so I could recognize…” he trailed off pointedly and watched closely for his reaction.

Kurapika shuddered before him to his pleasure.

“It makes you quite obvious,” he commented softly.

Kurapika struggled with himself and Chrollo could see it all. He furrowed his brows, frowning, breaking face. Chrollo watched the way he scrunched up, lost and confused.

Even without his eyes, his expressions were so readable. Even without the bright color, he was so full of _emotion_.

Chrollo was absolutely fascinated.

“You shouldn’t fret. You can’t use gyou anymore. It’s not like you could know.”

One swift motion and the chain around him _squeezed_.

“You must really… ha-te me,” he said fondly.

He could see the way the chain user took in this information, already thinking and re-planning a different method to survive. Planning a way to escape, to outwit him. This was why… this must be the reason. He could see every thought crossing his mind as clear as day, in the crease of his frown and in pursed, thoughtful lips. Chrollo marveled at how much he could see even without his eyes.

The spider leader realized.

He was wrong. The chain user never gave up on his revenge. The chain user didn’t know how to, and it looked like Kurapika was realizing the same thing. Kurapika was terrified of his presence, of his strength and advanced abilities, of what he could do to him and the baby. The dowsing chain was just for show, his hand was shaking.

But he didn’t know of any life otherwise, other than chasing him. Chrollo was lucky. Kurapika still hated him; Kurapika wanted to kill him. Chrollo was delightfully wrong, and now he had something that would stay bright forever.

Chrollo missed this.

“You need to leave,” Kurapika said.

The spider blinked.

“I’m serious. You need to go.”

His chains loosened. They slipped against his frame and hung heavily like it was a new fashion. Chrollo cracked his neck and back loudly and stretched out his joints.

“Is that a request?”

“…yes.” Kurapika admitted unwittingly, aware that he was in no position to make demands. He looked… contrite. But the spider leader didn’t mind at all, he simply nodded and got up.

Kurapika looked hesitant.

Chrollo couldn’t help but smile at him.

“What are you thinking about?” he said warmly, closing his eyes. He felt content. Chrollo stuffed his hands into his pockets, making sure his actions were clear and nonthreatening to make Kurapika feel comfortable.

“You really came to visit…” Kurapika said softly, more to himself. He was frowning.

“Yes.”

Kurapika sighed wearily.

“Couldn’t you knock?” he chastised half-heartedly, shaking his head of it all. The spider avidly watched his face.

“Sorry.”

The chain user sighed again.

The spider leader made motions to leave. He made sure every step was audible. He passed him and was at the door when he heard it:

“Chrollo.”

The man paused at his name.

He turned at the utterance of the sound. From Kurapika’s voice he was easily caught, drawn, smitten. He thought that if he said it again he would do anything-

“Yes?”

“You can come back… later.” Kurapika looked like he was actively regretting his words but his upbringing preceded him, he couldn’t be rude. But he was in his underwear and couldn’t bear to entertain him now. Chrollo thought back to his conversation with Nobunaga and smiled.

“Of course.”

…

He came back the next day when Kurapika was calmer and ready to see him. Not happy, exactly, but more subdued.

“You’re back,” Kurapika said unceremoniously, his tone neutral. The chain user knew of his entrance this time and was unsurprised at his return and Chrollo thought a little less caustic. He wasn’t told against sitting by the chain user; the couch cushions dipped under his weight and Kurapika said nothing.

Chrollo took the moment to observe.

(He was dressed this time) and busy with the baby feeding. That must be what made him so agreeable. She took a spoonful of formula and gurgled happily; Chrollo was curious.

“You’ve settled well.”

He had inspected the whole place, but it was only now he spoke the thoughts that he was thinking, walking in on the familiar scene Kurapika made like he’s done this many times. Chrollo was interested in it all but the chain user was unfazed by his words, Kurapika could understand what he was asking.

“Yes.”

Chrollo hummed.

“You look good.”

That got his attention. Kurapika placed the spoon down to turn to him. The chain user placed the formula down as the baby was not interested in eating anyway, more interested in Chrollo’s presence than her meal.

Kurapika was skeptical. “For being blind?”

“Mm.”

He sighed.

“I have no idea how to respond to that.” He turned away from him even though he couldn’t see him in the first place. Maybe it was for his sake, maybe it was the incredulity at his words, so that Chrollo could know he was giving him his full attention.

“You don’t have to. I was just saying. I didn’t expect you’d adapt so well.”

He thought he could hear Kurapika mutter a curse under his breath.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What did you expect?”

For once, Chrollo was silent.

But the chain user was adamantly on to something and he had no intention on interrupting him. Kurapika itched with trapped energy, frustrated. “Since for some reason you want to come here, you want to know how I’m doing, fine. If you want to talk niceties, I’m fine. I’m stable. I have some of my nen. I have a way to see things in the world even though you took my eyes.”

“You sold them to me.”

Kurapika swore.

The chain user struggled to compose himself, actively breathing.

“Yes. Even though I sold them to you…” he said carefully. If he had eyes they would be glaring. Chrollo guessed he hated him right about now.

But the spider leader was saved by the baby. She tossed and turned, annoyed at being ignored. When she fussed Kurapika quietly placed her down on the floor to play, turning away from him.

That girl instantly calmed him.

“What do you want,” he asked quietly, subdued. “What do you really want?” he was completely tested at this point.

“I wanted to tell you something.”

Kurapika hummed noncommittally giving him permission to continue. He was in a better mood now, more willing to hear him out.

“The person who purchased your eyes was the fourth prince of Kakin, Prince Tserriednich. I had thought you should know,” Chrollo said while Kurapika froze.

The spider leader noticed his reaction and mused, it seemed like the chain user recognized the name.

“I told him that you were alive.”

Kurapika let out air deliberately.

“Of course you did,” he muttered.

“He wanted evidence if the eyes were real.”

Kurapika sighed.

The baby fell down playing. He quietly picked her up and adjusted her upright again.

This time, the chain user’s voice was strained. “Then why… why did you think to tell me this?” he got out.

Chrollo was thinking, turning the question over in his mind but his reaction was not fast enough, not for whatever Kurapika had to say to him.

“You were worried? Obliged? Concerned? Pitying?” he smirked sardonically.

“I have reason to believe he might pursue you.”

“Oh, you mean like you.”

Chrollo was quiet.

But Kurapika was not through with him.

“This is rich coming from you.” Chrollo was lucky that the chain user couldn’t see him, that he couldn’t read what he was thinking. Or he was unlucky that Kurapika adapted well to using his dowsing chain to its full potential; he didn’t need to see. “What the hell did you hope to accomplish? If you were so worried, couldn’t you have kept it to yourself?”

Chrollo pressed back. “Did you think that with this child you could have a normal life? Is that why you keep her?”

Kurapika bristled.

“ _No_.”

He was shaking violently, trembling with the anger. But he didn’t break, not in front of the baby and not to his satisfaction. Kurapika growled again, low.

“No.”

Chrollo blinked.

“After you came, I realized.”

Despite his rage, the chain user’s voice was soft and accepting. It was delicate and frail and shook with the raw emotion. It was tender around the edges, honest and revealing. “You coming here yesterday taught me something. I was being stupid. I was a fool to think that I could have a peaceful life,” Kurapika whispered.

And Chrollo couldn’t help but to watch his face. He was so fascinated by his emotions, so moved, he followed every broken expression, down to the way Kurapika swallowed thickly.

“There is nowhere for me to hide. My clan made that same mistake.”

The chain user bowed solemnly. Chrollo watched as the boy shook himself of it all, recovering, returning to his previous anger. It was a front, a cover.

“Even if, what do you care?”

“I think it’s such a shame.”

“A shame?”

“I think you still have potential.”

Kurapika hitched and released his breath.

He breathed carefully, consciously, thinking and picking the appropriate words. “...Potential?” Chrollo didn’t particularly like his sarcastic smile. “What do you mean ‘potential’?” he smirked darkly, but his lips were trembling.

“I mean your nen.” Chrollo said.

…

“My nen.” Kurapika repeated blandly, voice empty.

“Yes.”

There was a moment.

Chrollo thought that it was weird he was reacting like this, shouldn’t he be more defensive? Why was he so accepting of his current condition? Kurapika hated to admit weakness before the spider. But instead of getting mad the chain user turned away from him, disregarding his words and closing in on himself.

His voice started, low and steady and unwavering.

“I gave you my eyes. I lost all but one of my nen abilities, the weakest, most non-offensive ability I had left. I lost my clan’s greatest strength bestowed on me. _Whatpotential_?” He spat, cursing.

Chrollo didn’t have the decency to ignore the bitterness in his tone.

“I think you still have something.”

“ _Jesus Christ._ ”

Chrollo watched him avidly with un-blinding faith. Kurapika flipped at his muted reaction, standing abruptly. Chrollo’s eyes followed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I would never.”

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” Kurapika cried. “You took everything away from me! Everything I was – my clan, my eyes, my nen, my dignity! Everything I am! – What do I have left? What could I possibly have left?”

Chrollo never thought he was more beautiful.

“You’re so-!!” The boy was almost tearing at himself out of frustration, nails digging into his arms to keep his composure.

“Try me.” the spider leader ordered.

His breath stuttered.

Kurapika looked utterly lost.

“Do you have a piece of paper?” he asked and stood, to which Kurapika flushed from his sudden proximity. The boy stumbled backwards and because Chrollo was worried he’d fall, he had caught him. But Kurapika flustered and fussed under his grip, so Chrollo let him go.

“What- What do you need paper for?” he was calmer now, distracted with his confusion. He was still bright red in the face to which Chrollo thought was interesting but an exercise for another day.

“Do you have a cup and water?”

…

“This is pointless. I could tell you myself, I’m a conjurer.”

“I know.”

Chrollo was insistent. He filled the cup he discovered in Kurapika’s kitchen with tap water, turning off the faucet when it was full to the brim. He set it aside on the counter. Chrollo was busy folding the piece of paper he found while Kurapika stood solemnly next to him, his dowsing chain hanging from his side.

“This is a waste of time.”

“If you insist.” Chrollo calmly tore the paper into smaller squares. “Here. We’ll use this.”

Kurapika waited considerably.

Chrollo guessed he was examining him with his chain, determining of his intent. But the spider leader was earnest and not hiding anything, he let him come to his own judgements as he will.

He offered. “If you release a little nen into the water to start the paper won’t drown.” Kurapika was skeptical. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s the problem…” Kurapika muttered to which Chrollo ignored that.

…

They moved to the kitchen table. The baby was interested in what they were doing, crawling speedily towards them. Kurapika knew of her approach and scooped her up but didn’t move towards the glass; he was still doubtful of him, avoiding. Chrollo waited.

His words were slow and careful. “What is this supposed to prove?”

 _Nothing_.

“I don’t know.”

Chrollo lied and he knew Kurapika could tell, his dowsing chain moved with a single soft _clink_. But the chain user didn’t push him for his reasons, instead picking up the cup with his free hand.

Chrollo watched him closely.

The chain user held the glass delicately in his hands. He was always like that delicate, careful, graceful with everything, more so now when he was ruminating. Chrollo watched the thoughts flicker across his face, interrupted with hot flashes of emotion. The chain user was hesitant to face the truth, that his abilities were gone for good. He was fearful to learn that he would have no way against them ever again. But Chrollo was emphatic for his reaction, and for good reason. He wanted to see if they were truly the same.

Kurapika’s hands were shaking as he released his nen and Chrollo was staring.

“You will have to tell me what it does…” he said and Chrollo hummed his acknowledgement. Kurapika let his ren flare.

…

The water instantly changed colors, oscillating between rich hues like a chameleon. The paper began to spin. Chrollo was blank; silent.

“What’s happening?” Kurapika asked, tone concerned when he went dark for too long.

_Ah._

_I guess I was wrong._

Chrollo closed his eyes from watching. He sighed and tried to think about it further. But his mind was empty of a potential explanation, lost to the singular truth and realization.

_He’s not like me._

…

Chrollo thought he would feel upset. But he only felt determined.

He observed the boy to his content, moving to get a closer look.

Kurapika didn’t react to his motions because Chrollo was careful to conceal his presence, placing his breaking-and-entering skills to use. He stared openly while Kurapika was still waiting for his response.

“What’s happening??”

“You can put the cup down.” Kurapika flinched at the proximity of his voice, reeling. Chrollo mused that he could hear his heart race. His eyes gazed at the way the boy flushed bright again, but dutifully placed the glass between them.

And Chrollo wanted to see it, what made him so _special_.

“There’s impurities in there, isn’t it?” he said softly, a light sadness coloring his tone.

“No,” Chrollo said.

He thought suddenly that maybe he could see why… in the way Kurapika waited for his answer. The boy’s face was so worried, open, honest and trusting,

-no matter what Chrollo did to him.

“You’re still a specialist.”

…

At his words, Kurapika was filled with only two feelings, far from the shock Chrollo expected of him.

Gratitude. Then,

 _Relief_.

…

“I see… If your eyes are still red in their container it still counts, doesn’t it?”  

Chrollo relented and laughed softly.

_No... he was wrong._

Kurapika thought that he had lost everything. He thought that he was left with nothing. But maybe something of his clan never left him. He had one thing left to him, one last thing, something that Chrollo couldn’t take.

Chrollo was watching his face closely.

Kurapika could tell, kind of, he could at least guess. The man was absolutely focused on his every reaction which was unnerving as much as it was earnest… of him.

“Are you disappointed?”

Chrollo chuckled and Kurapika refused the way the sound made his heart stammer. “Worried about my opinion?”

_I’m more worried you want to steal my abilities._

Kurapika frowned and shook his head. Chrollo huffed.

His voice however was inordinately _joyous_.

“No, I’m glad,” he murmured and Chrollo was utterly pleased. Kurapika flushed at the pleasure in his voice. He knew that if he could see his eyes they would be smirking and gleaming.

“I guess I was wrong about you. Looks like you’re more than just your eyes.”

…

After learning and getting what he wanted, Chrollo was still in his kitchen, he wasn’t leaving. Kurapika didn’t know what to do.

He knew the man was looking at him.

The man’s stares were getting longer than what was socially appropriate, so much so that even without his eyes Kurapika couldn’t bear his attention. He averted his face. He knew he had no eyes to expose his emotions but it still felt like Chrollo could see right through him, and find what he wanted. He had no sight in turn to know where he was looking, or what the man was learning from him.

Chrollo must’ve moved closer. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t tell. His scent was right in front of him, clean and sharp musk from the sweat of his travels, Kurapika hadn’t offered him to use his restroom to freshen up. He didn’t smell like blood, but then again he never did, he was too good at what he did to avoid the mess. Chrollo’s presence wasn’t cold, it was absolutely searing him. Scaring him with something he couldn’t name or understand.

He breathed his words too close, tickling his ear and cheek and ruffling his bangs.

“Didn’t you say earlier that it was too late to hide? Why do you turn away from me?”

Kurapika shivered.

His voice came out shaky and weak despite himself. “-what do you want?”

“Hmm...” The wait was killing him, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

He turned impatient. “Well??”

“I don’t want Tserriednich to come here.”

Chrollo was so blunt it was obvious.

_He was like a child!_

Kurapika growled. “Well, I don’t have a choice now do I?”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like you either but that doesn’t stop you from coming here!”

_God, he’s so possessive!_

“I can’t say I’m comfortable with the thought. You asked what I want.”

Kurapika froze at the reply. Chrollo admitted it so casually, like there was nothing wrong with it. He thought that after giving up his eyes the man would be completely disinterested in him, he would see him as nothing; he would see him as trash. But instead, Chrollo was never more close.

“I’m not happy with it.”

_Does he even listen to himself?_

“Well, that’s my problem now, not yours,” the Kurta muttered.

“You blame me for telling him though.”

He struggled to not hit him.

“Yes… so? What are you going to do about it?” Kurapika was wary and highly cautious.

He could hear the smile in Chrollo’s voice.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay*
> 
> I'm likely to edit this in the near future, for some reason I feel the burning need to edit only after I post, lol. But mostly I was getting lazy, I think I was getting tired of this story and wanted to get to the point :p Hopefully the longer chapter makes up for the lack of sequel
> 
> If you must know, after this point Kuroro offers to train him (but really lowkey watch over him) since he's lost his chains but not his specialist ability. Aside from Tserriednich he also wants to protect him should his spider betray him (aka Nobunaga) and disobey his order not to pursue Kurapika. I wanted them to fight (Nobu/Blind Kura) to which Kuroro would also be closeby watching making sure neither of them seriously hurt each other.
> 
> Also why does he lose his chains but not his ability? Honestly I have no other answer for this other than author-choice. I just wanted him to give up his revenge, especially his ability to use chain jail but I didn't want to take everything away from him.
> 
> (also shout out to Milady13 because your comment seriously changed the nature of this fic I did not even remotely consider the eyes could change back to brown, thank you)
> 
> But more or less after that... ?? The intent was to end with mafia lord!Kurapika and hitman!Chrollo, but this chapter alone was the point I wanted to get to from the start of this story. So sorry!! I know you guys wanted a sequel but I promise I have more ideas, even better ideas (to me at least, lol) that you guys might like to read. I will try my best to do more for this fandom, I promise. I will stop talking now lol and be writing them now, sorry for the long author's note,


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